


Ellipses

by dysonrules



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Bonding, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-War, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:14:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 112,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28246776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dysonrules/pseuds/dysonrules
Summary: No one at the Ministry or St. Mungo's rushes to find a cure when a strange illness affects those with the Dark Mark tattoo, so once it involves their family, the Malfoys decide to take things into their own hands. As usual, Draco's plans tend to work out for the worse, especially when Harry Potter is added to the mix.This fic has been a long time coming and it's still not quite finished, so read it at your own risk. :) Trigger warning: there is a brief discussion of suicide.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 182
Kudos: 195
Collections: harry potter





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Veritas03](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veritas03/gifts).



_**Years, following years, steal something every day;** _

_**At last they steal us from ourselves away.** _

_**~Horace** _

_ Thursday, 20th January, 2005 _

Draco walked. He had no idea where he was going and could scarcely keep from tripping and falling; his eyes burned and his vision was distorted and blurred. He passed stairs and long hallways, portraits and statues, glass-paned doors and, finally, reached cold air and biting wind. He stumbled midway down the marble steps and scraped a knuckle on the railing when he caught his balance. He paused there, drinking in the frigid air and listening to the sobbing rasp of his breath.

_ Careful _ , he admonished himself,  _ it wouldn’t do for Mother to lose both of us on the same night. _ His attempt at dry humour fell flat and sent another spike of pain stabbing into his chest, so he pushed away from the railing and hurried into the garden, moving faster and faster until he was running.

His feet crunched rhythmically on the crushed stone path, seeming to urge him onward until each foot barely touched the ground before flying up again. A hissed spell flung open the garden gate and he left the cultured path for the thick grass of the meadow beyond. The hills were familiar, even though he had not raced across them since childhood. It seemed a lifetime ago. He ran until his lungs threatened to burst, until the dark edges of the forest began to loom in the distance, and then he slowed, easing his breakneck pace, and finally jerking to a halt as if a puppeteer had yanked his strings. His heartbeat pounded in his ears and his tongue tasted of copper; his lungs seared painfully from the unfamiliar exertion.

He dropped to his knees when his emotions caught up with him. He had thought of nothing at all during his flight, aware only of the sounds of his footfalls and the wind whistling past his ears, but as he fell everything seemed to crash around him once more, grim as a spectre. His vision blurred again.

" _ Fuck _ !" he cried on a gasping breath. He shut his eyes and buried his face in his hands. His father was gone. Lucius Malfoy. Paragon. Tyrant. Hero. Anathema. Labels flitted through Draco’s mind too quickly to grasp. Lucius had done some monumentally stupid things with his life, but his love for Draco had never faltered, regardless of the number of times Draco had doubted that fact. Now Lucius had paid for some of those choices with his life.

And possibly with Draco's.

Draco opened his eyes and tore at his left sleeve, wrenching angrily until the fabric parted to expose the hated tattoo. The snake appeared to stare at him balefully and the glaring eye sockets of the skull looked even darker and emptier than usual. He wanted to cut it out of his flesh, even if it meant bleeding to death in the centre of an empty field. He cast about for something to use. A stone… A sharp bit of hardwood... Wouldn't it be better than--?

" _ Draco _ ?"

He jerked his sleeve down and straightened, wiping the wetness from his cheeks with a quick swipe of his hand, thoughts of violence scattered from his mind like a careless boot stomping down a sand castle. He climbed to his feet and turned to face his mother. She was ghostly pale and looked moments away from collapse. Most of her hair had escaped its severe bun and blew about her face in errant strands of blonde shot with grey. For the first time in Draco's memory, his unshakeable, strong mother looked  _ old _ .

He swallowed and looked away, unwilling to process that insidious knowledge on top of everything else. "Mother," he said, striving for a normal tone and failing miserably.

"Please come back inside."

He nodded, having exhausted the burst of furious energy that had flung him outside to begin with. He felt drained of both vitality and emotion and he welcomed the numbness. His mother dropped her arm around his shoulders and gave him a tight squeeze. "We will not let it happen to you, Draco. We will not."

Her voice shook with determination, but he detected the fear beneath it. He wished he could believe her.


	2. CHAPTER ONE - The best of poor choices

**_What do we any of us have but our illusions? And what do we ask of others but that we be allowed to keep them?”_ **

**_~W. Somerset Maugham_ **

_ Wednesday, 6th July, 2005 _

Draco tried not to fidget. He should not have been nervous; these were his friends, for Salazar's sake. They weren't judging him, staring at him as though he were unclean, or even pitying him, beyond what he rightly assumed to be normal levels of pity, due to the situation at hand.

And yet, it was sobering to know how far he had fallen, and how willing he was to grasp at any straw, no matter how slender.

Pansy was the first to arrive, of course, brushing Floo Powder from her pale green robes and wrinkling her nose as she complained about travel by Floo, the rudeness of pedestrians in Diagon Alley, the substandard quality of her lunch, and the sloth of Draco's house-elves (the last when Scamper was fractionally slow taking her cape), all within the seven steps it took to reach Draco and press a kiss upon his forehead.

"Blaise isn't here yet?" She glanced around the room and answered herself. "Naturally not. When has he been on time to anything?" She sprawled on the sofa opposite Draco and sighed loudly. "I could certainly use a cup of tea laced with bourbon." An instant later, a house-elf popped up next to her with a steaming mug. She took it with a snobbish huff. "Well, at least they aren't completely useless."

Draco smiled at her as she sipped her tea, and loved her a little for always being herself.

She shuddered. "Too much sugar. Of course. Your fucking elves despise me."

"They do not," Draco lied.

"They do. Almost as much as your mother, which is probably why they loathe me so much."

"My mother does not loathe you, Pansy," Draco said in a dry tone, although that was an even larger lie. Draco's mother hated Pansy with the heat of a thousand Incendios, although she would never admit it to Pansy. Narcissa had, however, imbibed too much champagne during one New Year's Eve party at some point and mentioned to Draco that she would rather he marry a foreigner, a wizard, a Muggle, or even a house-elf than "that girl." Draco had hoped she was joking about the house-elf portion of that statement, but he could never be quite certain.

Pansy rolled her eyes at him. "Will she be here?"

Predictably, his mother chose that moment to walk into the room. "Good afternoon, Miss Parkinson. What lovely robes. They highlight your skin tone  _ so nicely _ ."

Pansy's eyes narrowed and Draco could practically see her thoughts whirling as she sought the hidden meaning in his mother's words. She would probably rush home and stare into the mirror to locate any flaw in her appearance. Normally, their catty games amused Draco but today he had no patience for them. "Has there been any word from Blaise?" Draco demanded, cutting through Pansy's return greeting.

His mother sat down next to him on the sofa. "Nothing beyond his initial acceptance, Draco, and you would likely have heard before me."

Draco mentally cursed Blaise for always being late. His nerves felt stretched to the breaking point.

"Is the tea to your liking, Miss Parkinson?" The words were tinged with amusement and Draco knew his mother had ordered the house-elves to over-sweeten Pansy's tea. From the whitening of her knuckles, Pansy knew it also.

"It's delightful, Mrs Malfoy," Pansy replied with a smile as false as a shark's. "Loaded with sugar, just as I prefer."

Before the sarcasm could rise high enough to drown them all, Blaise strode out of the fireplace.

"Sorry I'm late!" he called with a grin and breezed forward to lift Draco's mother's hand. "Lovely to see you again, Narcissa. You look as beautiful as ever." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand while staring directly into her eyes before straightening and casting a smile at Draco. He leaned over and cupped Draco's chin to croon, "As do you, poppet."

"Knock it off, Blaise," Draco snapped and knocked his hand away. "It's about time you got here. Park your arse and let's get on with it."

"Draco, manners," his mother admonished.

Blaise sprawled next to Pansy and looped an arm over her shoulders before he leaned close and placed a noisy kiss on her temple. She gouged him with an elbow in the ribs, but he did not remove his arm.

"I assume you know why you're both here," Draco said, suddenly feeling the weight of his exhaustion. Were these two really his only hope?

"Because we are your only friends?"

Draco's glare scorched at Blaise, mainly because it answered the question that has flitted through his mind moments before. "Because you are the only ones who might be willing to do this."

"And to save Draco's life," his mother added.

The calm statement seemed to sober even Blaise, whose smile disappeared as he nodded. "If I understand your letter correctly, what you need is someone to sort of... _ hold _ your magic for you."

"Basically, yes," Draco replied. "The curse is degrading my magic and turning it against me. Eventually, it will kill me as it did… as it did my father." He looked away and dared not meet his mother's eyes. Their private funeral was months past, and yet the wound still felt fresh. Sometimes the grief seemed to go on and on, particularly when Draco caught his mother crying softly in the study, or on those dark days when she refused to leave her rooms at all.

"So one of us will hold your magic and you effectively become…"

"A Squib," Draco answered in a flat tone. He had tried not to dwell upon that aspect, about what the complete loss of his magic would mean. He felt sick at the very idea, and yet the alternative was a slow and painful death. He could not put his mother through that again, not if there was any other option. And he did not want to die.

His mother reached out and squeezed his knee reassuringly. "There is more to it, however," she said. "The transfer is the easy part. The difficulty will be the  _ proximity _ ."

Pansy nodded, but confusion wrinkled Blaise's brow. "Proximity?" Pansy smacked his leg, hard. "Did you not read the letter?" she demanded

"Most of it," Blaise muttered and rubbed his thigh. "Draco's handwriting is not the easiest bloody thing to decipher."

" _ Idiot _ ," Pansy said, "when Draco's magic is transferred--"

His mother's voice cut through Pansy's as though she hadn't been speaking. "Although Draco will not be in possession of his magic, it will remain tethered to him, if you will. Such a link is necessary if he hopes to have it returned to him once the curse has run the course of time. We predict the greatest distance Draco can be parted from his Vessel is twenty, possibly thirty, feet."

" _ Twenty feet _ ?" Blaise burst out and gaped at Draco like a landed trout. It was likely his life was flashing before his eyes, particularly the parade of bodies entering and departing his bedchamber.

"I'll do it." Pansy lifted her chin defiantly.

Draco's mother made a small sound of annoyance, but the fact that Pansy was being considered at all spoke of the depth of their desperation.

Blaise's voice sounded somewhat panicked as he spoke. "Draco was cursed by persons unknown--" he began.

"By  _ Voldemort _ ," Draco said. It was interesting how easy it was to say the name now that the bastard was dead and gone, thanks to another certain person who would remain nameless.

"That hasn't been proven!" Blaise countered.

"Who else would do such a thing? And why has it affected the oldest Death Eaters the quickest and with the most permanent results? All of those who joined him when he was young and strong are now  _ dead _ ."

Blaise lifted a placating hand. "Fine. We will assume You-Know-Who cast it as a final farewell. The spell has no counter-curse and no one at the Ministry or St Mungo's can find a cure--"  _ Not that they had tried _ , Draco thought bitterly, "--and the end result is a slow degeneration in your ability to cast spells until, finally, death. Does that summarize it accurately?"

"You forgot the pain," Draco added. "There is quite a lot of pain before the end."

His mother's hand tightened on his leg and Draco reached down to grasp it; they clung to one another for a moment, remembering his father's final days. Draco suppressed a shudder.

Blaise visibly swallowed and nodded. "When your magic is removed and put into the 'Vessel' will it augment their magic, or remain separate?"

"We don't know," his mother admitted. "We will use a modified Transference Spell that we located too late to save Lucius. We are, however, confident that it will work."

_ Very confident _ , Draco added to himself, since they had tested it.

"So the full effects are unknown, but it is certain that Draco will become a Squib." Draco was usually amused by Blaise's need to make mental bullet points, but this time he wished Blaise had done so prior to his arrival. Draco did not need a recap. Of course, it was likely Blaise only did so in order to delay the inevitable decision.

"A  _ temporary  _ Squib."

Despite his mother's emphatic tone, it was not guaranteed. That portion of the spell had not been tested, could not be fully tested for quite some time to come. They knew the initial transfer would work, but they had no idea if the reversal would be successful.

"A temporary Squib," Blaise repeated. "In addition, he and the recipient will be forced to live in close proximity-- _ very close proximity _ for… how long?"

"We don't know. We are estimating a few months, at best. At worst, it could be a year, possibly longer."

"A year." Blaise sounded stunned. Draco knew how he felt. The thought of living so close to Blaise--or anyone, really--for such a long time would be torture, for many reasons.

"I'll do it," Pansy said again. Draco smiled at her weakly, knowing that living with her would be just as hellish, for completely different reasons.

"We need to verify that your magical essences are compatible." His mother's tone was firm.

"How is that done?"

"With a simple test. We have everything ready, there." She waved a hand towards a small table to one side of the room. A basin and an assortment of vials had been arranged atop it.

Pansy stood. "Let's do this." She walked to the table and waited expectantly. Draco got to his feet and joined her, feeling a twinge of pain in his hips as he did so. The pains were frequent and random, sometimes leaving him doubled over. He hoped none of the stronger ones struck him whilst Blaise and Pansy were in attendance.

His mother and Blaise joined them and Pansy dared to question his mother. "Why don't  _ you  _ just take Draco's magic? You already live together, although if thirty feet is in order, you might have to move to a smaller house. Is that not acceptable?"

The dig wasn't subtle. His mother's lips thinned as she uncapped a vial and poured the clear liquid into the basin. "Our magic is not compatible." It was a sore point with her, Draco knew. Thankfully, Pansy said nothing in response. A vial of blue liquid and a sprinkle of herbs joined the clear potion and a flick of his mother's wand stirred the mixture.

"Now if you will both cast together," she said. "A simple spell such as _Lumos_ will do."

Draco lifted his wand, a bit nervously, as using magic these days could result in unexpected consequences. He could usually cast basic spells without fear of repercussions and this time was no exception. The tip of his wand glowed and light shimmered over the liquid for a moment, growing brighter as Pansy's spell joined it. When the glow faded, the liquid gleamed bright red.

Draco's mother let out a huff of breath that closely resembled a sigh of relief. "Not compatible," she announced with only a hint of satisfaction.

Pansy went rigid, and then she turned and gave Draco a hug, holding so tightly he thought she might crack his ribs. "That's it, then," she whispered and squeezed once more. He held her closely, knowing that she was giving up her last hope of them ever being together. He had already told her that it was impossible, but hope was sometimes difficult to destroy. She finally released him and stepped aside. "I will wait and see if Blaise has better luck."

His mother had already purged the old liquid and started anew. As the herbs fell into the water, Blaise stepped forward and patted Pansy on the shoulder. He gave her a sympathetic look and she nodded with a half-smile. Despite all of their back-biting and borderline rude behaviour, they all cared about one another.

Blaise cast and Draco's spell joined his. Draco was not surprised when the liquid shone palest yellow. "Congratulations, Blaise," Draco muttered dryly.

"Always the lucky one," Blaise replied jauntily and Draco could not tell if he was being sardonic or not. "Well, then. We have much to plan, don't we?"

"Are you certain you want to do this?" Draco asked with a spike of anxiety. The enormity of it was only beginning to take hold, now that it seemed a true possibility.

"I won't see you die if I can do something about it, old boy." He clapped Draco on the shoulder. "Besides, it might be fun!" His dark eyes gleamed. Draco knew exactly what he meant by fun. Blaise had been trying to coax Draco into his bed for years and Draco had always resisted, knowing far too well Blaise's habit of pounding through lovers, both male and female, as though trying to cut the largest swath through a field of grain. Draco would never settle for being a stalk of wheat.

"Before we do this," Draco announced, "I want a trial period. Two weeks with this proximity idea, to make certain I don't want to destroy you after a few days, and vice-versa. I want to be sure."

Blaise nodded with a huge grin. "I see no problem with that. How shall we work it?"

"I think I know a way." Pansy's smile was wide and Draco found little comfort there. It was possible she would get her revenge, after all.


	3. CHAPTER TWO - A book about Quidditch

**CHAPTER TWO**

**_The will to succeed is found in a brave and determined spirit._ **

**_~unknown_ **

_ Monday, 11th July, 2005 _

Blaise worked at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Draco and Pansy had frequently teased him about it when he'd first hired out; Blaise detested sport. For that reason, apparently, he was the perfect associate for the Magical Safety and Compliance Division. He could not be bribed or coerced because he simply didn’t care who won or lost.

They Flooed to the Ministry together and walked towards the lifts. Draco maintained a close distance from Blaise, not only because of the spell, but also to act as though he belonged there. Pansy had cast a Tethering Charm that kept him and Blaise no more than twenty-five feet apart. It had worked well enough during the evening at Blaise's tiny flat; Draco thought the place resembled little more than a cupboard. A cramped, overly-cluttered cupboard. The thought of living there for a year (or more) had Draco considering death as a viable alternative.

Blaise had, surprisingly, made no moves on Draco as they had Transfigured the sofa into a bed and Conjured bedding and pillows. Draco supposed it was because Blaise was looking to the future where he might have months in which to climb into Draco's bed.

The transformed sofa had been uncomfortable, the sheets too coarse, the flat too warm, and the light streaming in from the windows too prominent to allow Draco any sort of rest. He had finally dozed off in the wee hours of the morning. It had taken Blaise some effort to awaken Draco and three cups of strong tea had barely penetrated his fog of exhaustion. Draco yawned as they entered the lift. Blaise had been talking about his job for the past forty minutes, but Draco cared little for Blaise's explanation of Bludger weights, Quaffle-repelling Charms, and the fact that the Wimbourne Wasps were known to attempt cheating more than any other team in the Quidditch League.

"How are you explaining my perpetual presence again?" Draco asked. Blaise had told him earlier, but there had not been enough caffeine consumption to allow memory retention.

"Draco, honestly. You are writing a book about Quidditch law. It takes a great deal of research and you plan to have several chapters on hazards and mishaps. Things I am well-acquainted with, as you know."

"No one will question that I'm here day in and day out?" Draco returned as he followed Blaise down a cramped corridor. The walls were festooned with Quidditch posters. The featured players gamboled on their brooms or stood waving out of the picture.

Blaise rolled his eyes as he paused with one hand on a metal door. "No one cares, Draco. Our department is not as highly regulated as some. You'll be fine."

The office was minuscule, nearly filled to capacity with two desks, two tall filing cabinets, and a ridiculous amount of Quidditch gear. There were brooms, Bludgers, gloves, polishing kits, and even a lone Snitch that zipped around the room. It was the first thing Draco noticed and he snatched it out of the air when it flew close enough. His shoulder rewarded him with a sharp spike of pain, but he ignored it as inconsequential.

"There is a chair in here somewhere," Blaise said and began to rummage through the assorted debris. The Snitch fluttered in Draco's fingers.

"Is every part of your life in such disarray?" Draco asked. He had known Blaise to be disorganized, but it had never personally affected him before.

"What disarray? I know where every single thing is in this office. Except, apparently, the chair--oh, there it is." He walked past the second desk--this one far neater than the first, and removed a stack of books from the seat.

Draco intuited that the first desk had to be Blaise's--nearly invisible as it was beneath stacks of parchment, ink, bric-a-brac, and Salazar knew what else. He walked to the other desk and sat down in the leather seat.

"Ah… you might not want to sit there," Blaise said as he dumped the book stack onto the floor.

"Why not?"

"Because that's my chair and my desk," a voice said from the doorway. "Good morning, Blaise. Did you bring something foul for show-and-tell today?"

Draco rose from the chair as if burned and threw Blaise an icy glare. Blaise refused to meet his eyes and dragged the chair he had unburied across the room and nearer to his desk.

"Hello, Gin. Draco is here to um… observe. And take notes and things."

"Take notes and things? Really? What for?"

Draco said nothing as he moved around the desk. He would have left the room entirely if he'd been able, having no desire whatsoever to spend a single moment in the company of Ginny bloody Weasley. She glared at him with distaste that was likely a perfect mirror of his own.

"Draco is writing a book," Blaise said smoothly and sat down behind his own desk. "There you are, Draco. Have a seat. And feel free to take notes."

Trapped by the damned Tethering Charm, Draco sat. His stare fixed on Blaise, who might at least have mentioned that he shared an office with the girl Weasel.

"What sort of book?"

"A book on Quidditch, obviously," Blaise replied with a snort and picked up a stack of paper.

"We have Quidditch books."

"There can never be enough Quidditch books, Gin-Gin. And especially fascinating books about Quidditch rules and those who break them," Blaise said and bumped a shin guard on his desk. It fell against a stack of papers and they immediately spilled onto the floor in a parchment waterfall. "Oh, blast. Draco, will you get those for me?"

Draco pulled out his wand and was about to spell them back onto the desk when he remembered they were supposed to be practicing for the time when Draco was a bloody Squib. The entire point was that he needed to maintain a close distance to Blaise and use no magic. If they couldn’t make it through the first day, there was no possible way for them to survive long months together.

"No," Draco said flatly.

Blaise gave him a sharp look and then blinked at him and winced. "Right! Nevermind." Blaise cast the spell himself and gave Draco a sheepish smile as the papers restored themselves atop his desk.

"I see you're still a complete arse, Malfoy," Weasley commented as she dropped into her chair.

Before Draco could reply, Blaise made a clucking sound. "Now, Gin-Gin, be nice. You know Draco is my friend and he will be spending a lot of time here. Behave and learn to get along. Both of you."

"How much time? Can't he do research somewhere else?"

Draco had an urge to flip her a rude gesture, a childish response, but something about the ginger menace made Draco regress back to his Hogwarts days. He itched to hex her, although the memory of a Bat Bogey might have stayed his hand.

Blaise made a theatrical gasping sound. "And send him off to do substandard research elsewhere? When we are clearly the best and foremost authority on Quidditch rules? Perish the thought!"

To Draco's surprise, Weasley laughed. "Well, you are right about that. I suppose I can do my best to ignore him. For the sake of Quidditch, Blay-Blay."

Draco nearly choked at the nickname and stared at Blaise, who would have been blushing if he'd been able, judging by his discomfited expression. Draco made a mental note to commit ritual suicide rather than ever accept a job that would lead to horrible co-workers and revolting pet names. Thankfully, an urgent memo arrived that set both Blaise and Weasley to working and Draco sat back with parchment and a quill and "took notes" that consisted of doodling stick figures (of Ginny Weasley becoming maimed in various ways, mostly), but he did manage to jot down occasional facts and figures spouted at him by Blaise. Sometime during the course of the long, boring morning, it occurred to Draco that he really could write a book, and why not?

After that, he tried to pay more attention when Blaise explained the rules of broom-weighting and which hexes were commonly used to throw off the weight and balance of various brooms. It was almost fascinating, even with the girl-Weasel throwing in unasked-for opinions.

Draco began to think he might survive close proximity to Blaise, after all. His optimism lasted until lunchtime. That was when Harry Potter entered the picture.

oooOOOooo

"No, Ron, it will never work," Harry said with a laugh. "Just give up your mad ideas and let Hermione kill them with a shoe like she always does."

Behind him, Harry could sense Ron shuddering at the very idea. "But spiders, Harry! It shouldn't be Unforgiveable to use it on spiders! And shoes make that horrible crunching sound." Ron made a cough of disgust.

Harry laughed again and shook his head. Days when Ron woke up to find a spider in his sink were always amusing. He rounded the corner and walked into a familiar office, hoping Ginny was ready to go to lunch. She was always a good ally when it came to tormenting Ron about his arachnophobia. Zabini was at his desk, as usual, surrounded by piles of paper. He did not even look up from the huge book he was reading when Harry entered.

"Hey, Gin, are you ready to--?" Harry's words trailed into silence when he caught sight of someone seated in the chair on the far side of Zabini's desk, someone he had not seen in a very long time.

"Yes, I am ready to," Ginny said and got to her feet with a grin. "I'm so hungry I could eat a thestral. Blay-blay, are you coming?"

"Yeah, yeah, give me a second. I need to mark this page. I think I found an anomaly here. Why are seventeenth-century laws so archaic?"

Harry barely heard them; his gaze was fixed on Draco Malfoy, who stared back at Harry without expression.

Ron leaned against the doorframe. "Please tell me we're not eating at--what's he doing here?"

"Writing a book," Ginny and Zabini said at the same time. Malfoy said nothing.

"He's not coming to lunch with us, is he?" Ron asked in a tone that made it sound as if he'd rather dine with spiders. Malfoy's eyes flicked to his and then moved to Zabini, who scribbled rapid notes onto a sheet of parchment.

"Yeah, yeah, we're coming. Just one more second. Secondary spell components… Levitation Charms… got it." Zabini's voice was close to a mumble.

"The book isn't going anywhere. Let's move it!" Ginny ordered and tossed a balled-up piece of paper at Zabini. It bounced off of his head and earned Ginny an absent glare.

"We'll stay here," Malfoy said.

"No, I'm hungry," Zabini countered and tossed his quill aside. "I didn't have breakfast. Come on, Draco, you'll be fine. Are we going to Meacham's?"

"I really think we should stay here, Blaise," Malfoy said and Harry could see that he was slightly agitated. What was Malfoy even doing here? Granted, he and Zabini were friends, but Harry had never seen him visit before, and Harry was in their office almost daily. He could not even remember the last time he had seen Malfoy; he was pretty sure it had been at Malfoy's trial, shortly after the war.

Zabini gave Malfoy a smile that seemed vaguely condescending. "Draco. It will be good practice. And Meacham's has a steak sandwich to die for."

"And chips," Ginny added. "I need chips."

"I'm tired of Meacham's," Ron grumbled, but Harry suspected his protest was less about the food and more about the fact that he was still pissy about finding a spider in the sink.

"Come on." Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder. "You can try something different. Like their tuna salad." Ginny popped up next to Harry and he dropped an arm over her with a grin as Ron set up a new round of complaints, vowing that seafood was worse than spiders. "Hurry up, Zabini."

"Coming," Zabini called.

Harry thought he heard an urgent murmured conversation behind them as they walked down the hall, but by the time they reached the lift Zabini and Malfoy had joined them. Zabini looked smugly cheerful, which was pretty much his standard demeanour, and Malfoy appeared uncomfortable, but resigned.

_ Writing a book _ , Harry thought, and wondered what Malfoy was really up to.

oooOOOooo

Draco felt like gnashing his teeth in annoyance. How dared Blaise put him in such a position? Dragging him to lunch with people who hated him!

"They don't hate you," Blaise had murmured to Draco's hissed admonition and refusal to be seen in the company of former Gryffindors. Sometimes Blaise could be bloody obtuse.

"They most assuredly do," Draco replied as they walked towards the elevators where Potter and the two Weasleys waited. Potter. Draco tried not to look at him. He wished to be anywhere in the Ministry where Potter was not.

Weasel One and Weasel Two were arguing about food. Potter was watching Draco with one of his arms was draped casually over the Weaselette's shoulder. Still dating then, apparently. Draco was surprised they hadn't already tied the knot and started mass production of new ginger-haired brats.

"You realize this is going to be awkward as hell?" Draco asked.

"They aren’t so bad once you get used to them. We’re adults now and not schoolchildren. I have lunch with them regularly and if you're going to be attached to my hip now, then you'll be joining us. And it's lunch, Draco, not an international incident."

"It might turn into an international incident," Draco muttered and hoped he could keep his growing irritation in check long enough to survive a meal with several people he intensely disliked. They entered the lift, Draco last, and he felt even more self-conscious standing in front of the doors whilst the others talked behind him, acting as if he wasn't even there. He wondered if buying an invisibility cloak for the duration of his tether to Blaise might be a viable option.

"Ron saw a spider this morning," Potter was saying.

Draco let their banter wash over him. Blaise joined in, making Draco feel like even more of an outsider. He tried to ignore them as they left the lift and exited into Muggle London. Potter must have cast a Disillusionment Charm because their appearance drew no undue attention from the scattered Muggles they saw. Draco trailed behind the others until they reached a dingy-looking pub. He felt the tingle of magic when they crossed the threshold and exhaled in relief. At least the eating establishment was part of the wizarding world.

Potter lifted a hand to the man behind the bar and Weasley called, "Alright there, Mike?"

"Can't complain. Wotcher, HP? Sparky? New guy?"

"Grand," Potter said as they all filed towards a table between the bar and the front window.

"What am I, invisible?" Blaise complained loudly.

"You are when it comes time to buy your round," the publican retorted with a grin. "Or so I've heard."

"That's slander!" Blaise cried.

"Brilliant," Weasel said, "then you won't mind fetching the drinks."

"Oh, I see how it is," Blaise mock-protested and heaved a theatrical sigh. "Butterbeer for everyone, or something stronger?"

The two Weasleys sat down and Draco quickly took a seat to ensure he sat next to neither of them; of course, this meant that Potter was to one side whilst Blaise would be on the other. The circular table was small, and though Draco tried to keep his limbs contained, Potter's knees brushed his when he sat down.

Weasel grabbed the menu from the centre of the table.

"Butterbeer for me," Potter said. Both Weasleys followed suit and Draco gave Blaise an eye roll and a nod, even though he was itching to order a Firewhiskey just to try and dull the pain of sitting through lunch with Potter and the Weasleys.

Blaise headed for the bar and the Weasleys began to argue over the menu. They argued a lot, Draco noticed. He wondered if it had always been that way and tried to remember back to their school days.

"So," Potter said and gave Draco a deliberate nudge with his knee. "Writing a book. How's that going, then?"

"Fine," Draco replied. His attention was on Blaise, hoping he would remember there was a distance-limit between them. The pub wasn't really large enough for it to become a danger unless Blaise hoofed it to the gents whilst Draco wasn't paying attention.

"Never took you for a writer."

Draco fixed a stare on him, half-wondering why Potter was even speaking to him. "You never took me for much of anything, from what I recall."

Potter smiled, but his gaze went cool. Draco realised what a bad idea this had been and suddenly wanted nothing more than to get out. What was he thinking, sitting down to lunch with people who would likely salivate with anticipation at the knowledge that Draco was going to die, horribly and in agony? The Dark Mark on his arm burned for a moment and Draco's throat closed up. Salazar, not here.

Potter opened his mouth to speak, but Blaise slammed five large mugs atop the table, sloshing butterbeer foam over the sides of the glasses.

"Oi, graceful," Weaselette complained.

"Bloody things are heavy."

"You should drink more! You wouldn't have such puny arms!" Mike yelled from across the room and made drinking motions before pointing to his own prodigious biceps.

The others laughed as Blaise sat down with a loud cry. "My arms are mighty, I will have you know. I don't know why I come here, honestly. Stop hoarding that menu, Weasley."

Weasley snorted. "Right. As if you won't get the steak sandwich, like every time."

"Of course I will, but Draco's never been here."

"Chips," Weaselette said. "The chips are brilliant."

Blaise took the menu from Weasley and placed it into Draco's hands. The others told their preferences to Blaise and Draco selected the fish and chips after Potter nudged him with his knee yet again and recommended it. It was a bit surreal having Potter treat him like a regular mate, but Draco's life had not exactly been normal recently. As if to underscore the notion, unpleasant heat continued to crawl from Draco's arm up towards his shoulder. Hopefully, he could stave off an actual attack; sometimes the symptoms were manageable, or even false.

Blaise took their food order to the barman. The girl Weasel prodded at her brother again, complaining about some upcoming Weasley family function. Draco suppressed a sigh and sipped at his butterbeer. It evoked immediate memories of Hogwarts; Draco did not think he'd tasted it since leaving school. The recipe was slightly different here, fizzier and less sweet, but still nice.

As he contemplated the butterbeer, Draco watched Potter. His interaction with the Weaselette was interesting. Draco had expected kissing and kanoodling, pet names and soppy eye-gazing, but they acted more like regular mates than soulmates. Perhaps Potter's relationship with her had already cooled to the "comfortable-boring" stage. Draco nearly snorted a laugh at the thought of Potter putting it to her as quickly as possible, just to get it over with, and the Weaselette composing a shopping list whilst he thrust into her. And then he shuddered at the revolting notion of them having sex at all.

"Butterbeer not to your liking?" Potter asked.

"No, it's nice," Draco said and took another gulp, hoping to cool the flush that now gripped his chest and stole downwards. It sometimes turned into nausea; he probably should not risk eating anything.

A stout girl in functional robes brought a dish of chips to the table, steaming hot.

"Don't burn your tongue," Blaise warned the Weaselette as she snatched one and doused it with vinegar before popping it into her mouth and chewing with a blissful sound, although it was obviously too piping hot to eat.

"She never listens," Potter said with a chuckle.

"So good," she said, the words jumbled by her chewing, "can't wait."

Draco took several and allowed them to cool on his plate before he nibbled at one. They were delicious and he thought he felt the frightening warmth in his midsection retreat somewhat. Perhaps there were magical qualities in pub potatoes of which he was previously unaware. Blaise fetched the rest of their food and conversation slowed as each of them dug into their meals. Draco's fish was hotter than the chips, and he burned his lower lip on the dripping oil.

"Should have warned you about that," Potter said and Draco suppressed an eye roll at the idea of Potter warning him about anything short of catching on fire. Of course, the thought of fire brought back memories Draco would rather forget, so he took refuge from commenting by drinking more butterbeer. But the mere thought of Fiendfyre seemed to act as a catalyst and the fever exploded through Draco's veins, leaving him shaking and beginning to sweat. He had barely consumed any of his lunch but knew it wouldn't remain in his system for long.

"Blaise," he said frantically.

Blaise took one look at him and stood with a soft curse. "Come on. We'll be right back," he said to the others and helped Draco to his feet with a hand on his elbow.

"Is something wrong?" Potter asked.

"No, no," Blaise assured him. "We're madly in love and like to go to the loo together sometimes if you know what I mean." He leered and Draco felt too desperate to get to the gents to chastise him for making jokes at a time like this. "Straight back and to the left, Draco."

Draco started in that direction, walking quickly and fighting the urge to double over in pain. He shoved through the wooden door and barely made it into a stall before losing his lunch. Pain knifed at his insides and sweat beaded on his forehead.

"Anything I can do?" Blaise asked in a worried tone, hovering at the door behind him.

"Cooling Charm," Draco begged. "Please."

Blaise cast and Draco felt wrapped in ice for a moment. The sweat cooled on his skin, but the Charm did nothing for the heat cooking him from within. Nothing could help that. It had to run its course.

"Is he all right?" Potter asked, entering the room and pushing his nose into Draco's business.  _ Just like old times _ , Draco thought ruefully.

"I'm fine," Draco rasped, but he doubted Potter would hear him. Curse the man.

"He's fine!" Blaise said loudly. "Not feeling well, the poor dear. I think he might have a touch of Dragon Pox."

Draco cringed.

"Dragon Pox? That's… really contagious," Potter said.

"I know! You should probably leave, just in case."

Draco heard Potter moving closer and he snapped, "Go, Potter!"

"Yeah, okay, fine."

Potter went out and the door shut. Draco sagged against the wall of the stall, still shaking and too-warm. "Fucking hero," Draco muttered.

"Do you want to go home?"

Draco shook his head, but the thought of returning to the table and facing the stares of Potter and the Weasleys was suddenly exhausting. "Yes. Or back to your office if you can't miss work."

"I can call off. Don't worry, we'll figure this out." Blaise patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. "I'll go tell the others. The distance is near enough that it won't affect the… bond-thing, yeah?"

"I don't think it will. Just go."

Blaise went out and Draco left the stall to splash water on his burning face. It made little difference and left him with wet hair hanging over his face. He glared at his image in the mirror.

Blaise returned. "I told them I was taking you home. Come on, we'll get you to bed." Blaise put an arm around him and Disapparated them away. Draco could not decide whether or not there was innuendo in Blaise's words. If not, it would almost be a first.


	4. CHAPTER THREE - One night at the club

_**Hold faithfulness and sincerity as first principles.** _

_**~Confucius** _

Harry returned to the others. Malfoy hadn't looked good at all just before he'd fled the table, but he couldn't have Dragon Pox; that was absurd. Blaise wouldn't have allowed him out in public, even if Malfoy were stupid enough to demand it.

"What's up with the ferret?" Ron asked.

"Sick, I guess," Harry replied as he sat down.

"Good, maybe he'll go home. Bloody awkward with him here."

"Be nice, Ron. It was bloody awkward with Blaise before we got to know him, remember?" Ginny gave him a glare.

"Since when are you on the side of the Slytherins?" Ron demanded.

"Since spending nine hours a day with Blaise and finding out he's a bit of all right!"

Harry grinned. "Blaise is okay, but Malfoy is still a tit, isn't he?"

"Well, yeah," she admitted, "but not as much as expected. He didn't say much of anything at the office. Mostly just sat there and took notes. He didn't even ask questions."

Blaise trotted up. "Sorry, boys and girls. I've got to take Draco home. He's in a state, but probably nothing one of my patented massages can't fix. Gin-Gin, let Holyoak know I'll be out for the rest of the day."

"Wait, what? Take him home? Does he live with you now?" Ginny sounded shocked.

"Yeah, as of yesterday." Blaise smirked and wrapped up the remains of his lunch with a flick of his wand. "I'll pick up the tab on my way out. Ron, feel free to finish Draco's fish. Doesn't look like he'll be wanting it." Blaise gave them a jaunty wave, stopped off at the bar to talk to Mike, and then headed for the loo again. Ginny blinked after him with an odd expression on her face.

"Why so surprised?" Harry asked.

"Well… he never said anything," Ginny replied. "He usually tells me everything--in excruciating detail--and he hasn't said a peep about Malfoy. Now they're living together?" Her voice was curiously sharp.

"What's the big deal about that?" Ron asked. "They lived together in the Slytherin dorm for seven years. Hand me that basket. Malfoy didn't even touch that second piece."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "They had other roommates, so I doubt they had much opportunity to… Oh, never mind."

Ron's brow furrowed as he bit into a piece of battered cod. He chewed for a moment and then swallowed hard. "Wait, are you saying Blaise and Malfoy are…?" His eyes nearly bugged out and Harry was glad Ron had swallowed first.

"I've known Blaise was multisexual for a while now, but I never knew he and Malfoy had a thing." Ginny drained the last of her butterbeer.

Ron stared at her with a horrified expression. "I don't want to talk about this. At all. Ever."

Harry finished his own butterbeer and glanced at the hallway where Blaise had disappeared. Curious. Harry had long suspected Blaise's sexual preferences, based on the flirtatious comments he handed out to nearly everyone who entered his office, but he had never suspected Malfoy's. Then again, Harry hadn't actually thought about Malfoy in a long time.

Ginny pushed her chair back and got to her feet. "I'm going back to work."

"Coming, Ron?" Harry asked as he did the same.

"Yeah, yeah," Ron said and stuffed one last large bite of food into his mouth. He lifted a hand to Mike and mumbled something unintelligible.

"Thanks, lads! And lady!"

Harry gave him a nod and hurried after Ginny, who was already shoving through the door. She seemed agitated, judging by her brisk walk and the set of her shoulders. Harry quickened his steps to catch up with her.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

She glanced at him. "No! I just… Blaise stuck me with all his work this afternoon, the prat. I'll be lucky to leave at a decent hour. Is it okay if we cancel dinner?"

Harry shrugged. They frequently made plans to get together and then cancelled them more often than not. Harry's work schedule tended to long hours and unexpected journeys. "Sure. I should probably put in some extra time on the Hanson case, anyway."

She smiled and then leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. "You're the best, Harry."

"Wait up!" Ron yelled behind them. "What's the bloody rush?"

Harry chuckled. "I'll wait for him. You go on ahead."

She nodded and continued on whilst Harry stopped and waited for his partner. Ron caught up and jerked his chin towards his sister. "What's up with her?"

"I don't know. Upset about Blaise, I guess."

"Yeah. I suppose I'd be put out if I learned my office-mate had shacked up with a man. Oh hey, that would be you." Ron guffawed and jabbed him with an elbow.

"Put out?" Harry asked with a grin. "Is that what you call fainting?"

"I wouldn't faint! I'd be flabbergasted, but I wouldn't faint."

"Flabbergasted? Is that a Hermione word? And why flabbergasted? You don't think I can put it to a man?"

Ron made a choking sound. "Stop that. I don't want to think about it. And you wouldn't want to put it to a man when you're in love with Ginny, so it's a moot point. And yes, that's also a Hermione word. Oh, Godric, she's infected me!"

Harry laughed aloud. "Infected. I think I'll hold that one back for blackmail material." As they walked, he pondered Ron's words.  _ Was  _ he in love with Ginny? He had thought about the question more than once recently. They barely spent any time together and when they did it was in the company of others, Blaise and Ron, or Ron and Hermione, or sometimes a group from work getting together at the pub or attending a Quidditch match. Perhaps he should make an effort to treat her more as a girlfriend than a best mate. Maybe take her to dinner at a romantic restaurant.

Harry thought of Blaise and Malfoy. Did they go out to dinner? Harry had never really thought about a romantic relationship with a man. He pictured Blaise and Malfoy kissing. It wasn't repulsive, as he'd expected, maybe because of the contrast. Blaise's dark skin and Malfoy's ghost-paleness would make a pretty picture. Unbidden, he thought of them in bed and he flushed at the resulting image. A pretty picture, indeed.

"You okay?" Ron asked. "You don't think whatever Malfoy has is catching, do you?"

"I don't think so," Harry replied, and then wondered if being attracted to blokes could be contagious, even though that wasn't what Ron had meant. Harry forced his mind away from Malfoy and towards the stack of case files he had waiting on his desk.

oooOOOooo

_ Friday, 15th July, 2005 _

Draco tried desperately to find a silver lining to his predicament over the next week. Blaise seemed to be adjusting brilliantly, first by renovating his bedroom to include a large, separate bed for Draco, and then by adjusting his usual schedule to insert Draco as seamlessly as possible.

Mornings were easy enough, with Blaise rising first and popping into the shower, then making toast and sausages for them both whilst Draco showered and dressed. After breakfast (and a quick skim of the Daily Prophet), they would Floo to the Ministry where Draco would “take notes” whilst Blaise pored over files and books and manuals. Office time was made easier by the absence of Ginny Weasley, who had apparently gone off to inspect some new Quidditch pitch in Wales. Of course, that also meant Potter did not show his face So there were no awkward lunches.

Evenings were the worst. Blaise was a social creature and typically spent his nights at various watering holes and clubs scattered throughout London. Draco was frequently tired and had little desire to rub shoulders with drunken rabble. He hated dancing, and loud music gave him a pounding headache. To appease Draco, Blaise agreed to stay in, but that turned out to be nearly as bad since Blaise was not good at staying in. He grew bored with reading, games annoyed him, he despised chess, and had few interests beyond sex, Quidditch, sex, shopping for clothes, sex, baking, and sex. Luckily for Draco, the baking thing gave Blaise something to do or they might not have lasted four days together.

"Hand me that jar of vanilla beans," Blaise said on their sixth night together.

Draco scanned the row of jars upon the shelf. They were in alphabetical order. Blaise was utterly disorganized in many areas of his life, but not in others. Draco could relate, being a fellow Gemini. Important things, like kitchen supplies, were kept in regimental order and unimportant things… not so much.

"Now, I'll need something to add some pizzazz to the ganache. Orange liqueur, maybe?" Blaise sliced open the vanilla bean, scooped out the tiny seeds with the blade of his knife, and tossed them into the bowl. Draco thought he might learn to enjoy cooking; it was similar to potion-making, but with far fewer lethal consequences for substitutions and not following directions.

"Orange liqueur. Right." Draco wandered into the living room and examined Blaise's extensive liquor cabinet. There were seven varieties of orange liqueur. Seven. "Which one?" he yelled.

"Bartolemews!" Blaise called back.

"I am a bloody house-elf," Draco muttered as he located the proper bottle and returned to the kitchen.

Blaise had stopped stirring and had both hands propped on the counter on either side of the bowl. He sighed heavily. Draco set the bottle on the counter and watched him warily, attuned to Blaise's mood swings. He had not changed much from Hogwarts, after all.

"I can't bloody do this, Draco. I am trying to be a good friend, and be domestic, and stay at home, but it's driving me fucking mental. I haven't had sex in nearly a week.  _ A week _ ! My liver is suffering from alcohol withdrawal and my friends are owling me to ask if I've died. I need to get out."

Draco was glad he'd let go of the bottle or he might be tempted to bludgeon Blaise with it. He'd gone a week without sex? A bloody week? Draco had gone  _ months _ . His mind shied away from the whispered  **_years_ ** his subconscious tried to insinuate. Honestly,  _ months  _ was bad enough, there was no sense in admitting there had been quite a lot more than twelve of those. It was depressing, now that he thought about it, but there had simply been no time for it. The past six months had been spent desperately searching for an alternative to death, and the six months prior to that had been taken up with watching his father slowly spiral into a horrific demise. Sexual gratification had not exactly been a priority.

"I did not ask you to give up your life, Blaise," Draco said dryly. "What do you want to do?"

Blaise turned a dark stare on him. "I want  _ you _ , but I know that's not going to happen. And it's more difficult because you're right here. Hell, you're right across the bloody room, so I'm about to explode from frustration. Don't give me that look, I'm not asking you to do anything you don't want to do. But since you don't want to, would you mind if I go out and find someone willing to… ease the pressure, so to speak?"

"Of course not. I don't expect you to live like a saint. I certainly don't intend to be celibate for however long this lasts--" Draco held up a hand to negate Blaise's hopeful look, "but I also do not plan to complicate this situation by sleeping with you. It will be difficult enough without tossing that into the mix, don't you think?"

Blaise pouted, but then he heaved a sigh. "I suppose. So, we can go out tomorrow?"

"Yes. Fine. Whatever," Draco said. Sleeping with Blaise was an entanglement he did not need, and Blaise was a far better friend than he would ever be a lover. Draco had no illusions about that. He could put up with a few nights in a club to avoid that scenario.

Blaise smiled widely. "You're the best, Draco. Hey, maybe we can even find someone to take care of you."

_ On a cold day in hell _ , Draco thought, but he gave Blaise a smile and an encouraging nod, anyway.

oooOOOooo

_ Saturday, 16th July, 2005 _

The club was worse than Draco had expected. The music was too loud, too bass, and threatened to shake the walls with every ridiculous thump. Draco dared not consume too much alcohol, as it triggered very unwelcome side effects. The club patrons wore too much cologne and were too obvious and too desperate. Several of them had offered to buy Draco drinks, give him a blowjob in the loo, take him home, or simply asked him to dance. He had refused them all and nursed a single Firewhisky whilst staring gloomily into his glass.

He could hardly wait for the night to end.

Blaise gyrated on the dance floor with a blond twink that could not have been more than seventeen, despite whatever he had told Blaise regarding his age. Draco rolled his eyes and groaned.

"Another?" the barkeep asked.

Draco nodded, knowing it would take him another hour to finish it, but resigned to his fate. Blaise seemed to be having an excellent time on the dance floor and Draco wouldn't dream of cutting that time short, although he would much rather be sleeping. He suppressed a yawn.

"Draco! Salazar! What are you doing here, darling?" In a trice, he was enveloped in a fragrant embrace and recognized Pansy's perfume instantly.

"Bloody hell, Pans, I've missed you," Draco said and squeezed her tightly.

She chuckled. "Are you not having fun living with the sexaholic?"

"Not particularly." Draco pushed her away and only then noticed Theo Nott standing at her shoulder. "Hello, Theo."

"Draco," Theo replied in his usual bored tone and then leaned across the bar to order drinks for himself and Pansy.

Draco lifted a brow at her, but she only smiled enigmatically. "Darling, you must dance with me. Theo insisted on sitting this one out and you look like you could use a bit of fun. Do say yes."

Draco wanted to refuse, but he knew he'd been acting like a whinging prat recently, so he nodded and let her drag him out to the dance floor. Blaise had traded his partner for a blonde girl with enormous breasts clearly visible through a cleverly cut-out blouse. Pansy wrinkled her nose.

"She needs to learn that it's not necessary to display all the merchandise," Pansy said and put her hands on Draco's shoulders.

"Blaise doesn't seem to mind."

"He wouldn't. Are you jealous?"

Draco snorted. "Hardly. He can take them all home and fuck them at once if he likes. As long as he doesn't keep me awake."

"You sound like an old man, Draco." Pansy laughed.

Draco groaned and shifted to match Pansy's dance moves. "I feel like an old man. Are you and Theo on again?"

"What do you mean? He's just a friend. You know that."

"Fine. Whatever." Draco had no intention of analysing Pansy's bizarre relationship with Theo Nott.

"Are you jealous?" she asked again with a coy edge to her voice.

"Pansy--"

"Oh, never mind. I know the answer is 'no' and always will be, but you can't blame me for trying. What are  _ they  _ doing here?" Draco followed her glance and saw Ron Weasley at the bar with his frizzy-haired girlfriend in tow.

"This is  _ our  _ place," Pansy continued. "No Gryffindors allowed. How did they even find it?"

"Probably Blaise. They are mates now. Of a sort."

"What? I'll disown him!"

Draco laughed, feeling steadied by her predictable outrage. Still, he had no wish to be sociable with a Weasley, so when the song ended he gravitated to a corner table, giving Blaise a nod with his chin to remind the prat that he needed to maintain their minimal distance. Blaise winked and headed for the bar.

"Where did Theo get to?" Pansy asked as Draco sat down.

"Go and find him before he gets snatched up by some hungry floozy."

"All right, but I'll be back."

"I will be fine, Pansy. Go have fun."

She nodded and dove back into the crowd to hunt for the elusive Theo. The fact that Pansy and Theo still acted like schoolchildren who did not particularly like one another had ceased to amuse him. Apparently, they would never progress beyond the pigtail-pulling stage. It was baffling. When she was gone, Draco realised he should have asked her to bring him his drink. Now he would have to abandon his table to approach the bar and fetch his glass. This prime real estate would likely get snatched by a table-poacher.

"Hey there, Malfoy. Care for a butterbeer? Or I can get you something stronger?" Potter dropped two foaming mugs on the table and sat down. "Is this chair taken?"

"It is now," Draco said and wondered why the Chosen One had bothered to seek him out.

"I hope you don't mind, but I saw a determined-looking Romilda Vane headed towards me and she's always had a slight obsession with me, so…" Potter gave him a slightly desperate look that caused a feeling of unfamiliar camaraderie to cascade through him.

"Any port in the storm, eh, Potter?"

Potter grinned and lifted his mug to clink it against the other, despite the fact that Draco hadn't touched it. "Absolutely, Malfoy." He drank deeply.

Draco shrugged and joined him. As he drank, he looked Potter over. The man wasn't atrociously dressed, although he certainly wasn't fashionable. A plain blue shirt was visible beneath simple, open, tunic-style black robes. He was wearing jeans beneath, visible when he turned his chair and stretched his legs out to cross them at the ankles. He wore trainers that had once been white but were now discolored from dirt and reddish splotches that were, hopefully, paint. Always a curious mix of wizard and Muggle, was Potter.

Draco gazed over the crowd. "Which one is Vane?"

Potter groaned. "Don't make me look. What if she spots me?" Potter was mostly hidden by a potted ficus. He leaned back and peered through the leaves. "There, in the purple robes, talking to Hermione."

Draco made an amused snorting sound. "The intrepid slayer of the Dark Lord, hiding from a girl."

"Believe me, I would rather face down another Voldemort than take on a determined woman."

Draco blinked at Potter's casual use of the Dark Lord's name. Even after all this time, people did not speak it aloud, except for Potter, of course, who always had. "Doesn't your ginger girlfriend usually fend off your overly-determined fans? Where is she?"

"Still in Wales. She'll be back tomorrow. Ron and Hermione dragged me out to celebrate Hermione's promotion. I'm drinking butterbeer to make sure they both get home in one piece. Even the Floo can be dangerous for Ron when he's had too much Firewhisky."

Draco took another drink of butterbeer to avoid mentioning that Weasley had trouble walking at the best of times.

"What about you?" Potter asked. "You here with…?"

"Blaise," Draco said and did not bother to nod towards his roommate, who was still sandwiched between the amorous couple and openly had his hands beneath the woman's shirt.

Potter nodded, not turning around. "So, you and Zabini are… together, then." It wasn't quite a question.

_ Together for a bloody long time _ , Draco thought dismally. He nodded.

"Good. That's good." Potter drank again and Draco looked at him in amusement, wondering what the hell he thought was so good about it.

"Is that Zacharias Smith?" Draco asked, catching sight of a tall bloke with pale hair. "He should rethink that outfit. Although it does have that screaming 'available twink' vibe to it, don't you think?"

Potter craned his neck at that and actually peered around the plant. Luckily for him, Vane had disappeared into the crowd, probably having been misdirected away from Potter by Granger. Potter laughed aloud. "Oh god, he's literally horrible. And that outfit says 'I'm bloody desperate for a shag' to me. Are those… sequins?"

"He probably is desperate with that personality. And yes, sequins. They are meant to match his liberal use of glitter, I suppose. Anyone touching him tonight is going to be scrubbing glitter from their crevices for a week."

Potter laughed again, turning back to Draco as chuckles shook his frame. He had a rather nice face when he smiled, Draco noted absently. "I did not need that image, Malfoy, thank you very much, you horrible prat." He could not seem to stop laughing, and took off his spectacles to wipe his eyes.

"My pleasure, Potter," Draco said and meant it. He joined Potter in chuckling; Potter’s laugh was infectious. "Perhaps he thinks the glitter will disguise the fact that he's a jackass."

"I'd sooner shag a glitter-bedecked donkey, thank you very much," Potter said and burst into laughter again.

"Now I'm bloody tempted to give him the ears and a tail, just for you." Draco grinned.

"If I wasn't an Auror, I'd be tempted to let you."

Draco's smile fled when he saw Smith sidle up to Blaise. To Draco's utter lack of surprise, Blaise turned away from his admiring couple and raked an approving stare over Smith's glittering form. It was a failing; the more lascivious the display, the better Blaise liked them. "Salazar's balls, Blaise, not the fucking Hufflepuff."

Potter turned around again, just in time to see Blaise hook a finger into the low-cut waistband of Smith's trousers and drag him forwards. Potter threw Draco a curious look over his shoulder. "Ears and a tail for sure? I can be persuaded to look the other way."

Draco smiled in pure delight, not merely because of the offer, but because Potter was willingly offering to become Draco's co-conspirator. And neither of them were drunk! It was astounding. It was a pity Draco had sworn off magic or he would certainly have obliged.

"Never mind. Blaise will put the moves on anything that breathes." Even though Draco's words were flippant, he wasn't sure he had properly disguised his annoyance. If Blaise decided to bring Smith back to the flat, Draco might have to give up his no-magic rule and hex them both.

"Oh. That's very… forgiving of you. I would have expected more… possessiveness."

Draco's brow furrowed as he wondered what Potter was on about. He'd been making more sense earlier. "Forgiving? Why? I don't care whom Blaise shags."

Potter's brows rose and he fairly goggled at Draco. "I… see," Potter said, although he sounded as perplexed as Draco felt. Was Draco supposed to care about Blaise's sexual partners? Did Gryffindors check with one another to ascertain the suitability of their friends' chosen sex toys? Draco made a mental note to ask Pansy.

"Care for another round? Something stronger?" Potter asked.

"Mulled cider?" Draco suggested. He was feeling a bit of a chill and the alcohol content of the local cider was minimal. He hated to admit that he was enjoying Potter's company, but he was, and he would like it to continue.

"Be right back," Potter said and hopped up. He made his way to the bar and Draco chuckled when Potter dove behind a burly wizard to avoid catching the eye of someone, most likely the tenacious Romilda Vane.

"Moving up in the world, Malfoy, or lapping at the dregs?" Zach Smith's voice was just as annoying as it had ever been. He sprawled into the chair Potter had vacated. "Hard to say whether being seen with Potter is a benefit or a detriment, yeah? I suppose it would depend on who you ask."

Draco drank the last of his butterbeer and then set the mug down gently to avoid hurling it into Smith's smirking face. "No one asked you."

"Blaise did." Smith leaned forwards over the table and lowered his voice. "In fact, he asked me quite a few things. Some of which I probably shouldn't repeat."

Draco met his stare. "Fuck off, Smith. I don't like you. Potter doesn't like you, and neither does Blaise. He only wants you around long enough to shove his cock down your throat. It's probably the only way to shut you up."

Smith's pale eyes seemed to light up and his tongue flicked out to touch his lower lip. "Would you like to find out?" he asked in a come-hither tone.

Draco recoiled with a grimace of disgust. Smith was loathsome, even worse than he had been in his younger years. He had the air of someone fighting a losing battle with diminishing self-esteem, and trying to bolster it by acting as a lapdog to anyone who would pay him attention. Draco refrained from saying it aloud, suspecting that like many little dogs, Smith possessed a vicious bite.

Smith glared at him anyway. "Too good for me now that you're trying to get a taste of Potter? Good luck with that. I'll bet Blaise could get into Potter's pants quicker than you. And it looks like he's giving it his best shot."

Draco followed Smith's glance towards the bar. Potter was lounging with one hand on the bar top and smiling at Blaise, who leaned close to Potter and whispered something into his ear. Blaise dropped a hand to Potter's hip as if he'd lost his balance and needed to catch himself. He straightened with a self-deprecating grin. Draco could practically hear the sultry tones dripping from Blaise's lips; he had heard enough of Blaise's come-ons to know how potent they could be.

The air seemed to seize up in Draco's throat and his heart pounded as full-blown rage exploded through his veins. His hand fumbled in his robes for his wand and he hissed with frustration; he had intentionally made his wand difficult to locate so that he wouldn't be tempted to use magic.

"What the fuck is he doing?" Draco snarled. His wand was in a buttoned pocket near his ribs on the left side; the button was small and not easily pushed through the buttonhole. His fingers slipped on the tiny bit of decorative metal and pearl.

"Easy there, Malfoy. Touched a nerve, has he? Don't worry, Potter could probably handle all three of us at once. He was good enough to take on the Dark Lord, after all. Be interesting to see if he's really something special or if it was all propaganda bullshit, don't you think?"

Draco's fingers slipped on the button again and he debated leaving the wand and just smashing a fist into Smith's face. Blaise trailed his long fingers over the front of Potter's shirt, moving lower and lower with each stroke. Potter was distracted by the barkeep as he awkwardly fished some coins from one pocket of his jeans. He shook his head, looking slightly panicked, and Draco was sure Blaise had offered to help locate his coins.

_ Blaise, you are so, so dead _ , Draco thought. His head was beginning to throb with the renewal of his headache. He tore at the fabric of the stubborn wand pocket, giving up on trying to push the button through the hole. It did not rip, of course, as he had custom-ordered the robes from Milan. Expensive silk was incredibly strong.

"Blaise works with Ginny Weasley," Draco heard himself say. To his surprise, his voice sounded almost normal. "She'll have his balls as broom décor if he so much as puts a finger on Potter."

Potter shook free of Blaise and made his way back to the table where he plunked down two heavy tankards. Blaise trailed right behind Potter and stood far too close to him. Potter looked uncomfortable and he glanced at Smith for only a moment before turning too-green eyes onto Draco.

"Here's your drink, Malfoy. I need to get back to Ron and Hermione. It was nice talking to you, for once. You might want to take Blaise home. Apparently, he gets a bit handsy when he's pissed, yeah? Goodnight, Zabini." He gave Blaise a glare and then sent a fleeting smile Draco's way before disappearing into the crowd.

"Goodnight, Potter!" Smith called and Draco smiled when Potter lifted two fingers at him without turning around.

"I think he's coming around, don't you, Blaise?" Smith asked with false cheer.

Draco turned a frigid glare on Blaise. "Get him out of here before I kill him."


	5. CHAPTER FOUR - Reginald

_**Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt** _

_**In solitude, where we are least alone.** _

_**~George Gordon Byron** _

Blaise danced with Zach Smith a few more times, as well as the blond couple before they disappeared for the night, but eventually, he gave in to Draco's petulant glares and abandoned Smith for a slender boy with purple hair, dressed only in a pair of silver hot pants and black boots. Draco had no idea how Blaise had managed to shake Smith and he didn't care; he was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed.

Potter did not show himself again, probably holing up in a secluded part of the club to hide from everyone.

Finally, Blaise stood next to the table with one arm draped around the purple-haired twink. "Ready to go, Draco?"

Draco looked at Blaise's boytoy with a lifted brow. "Must you?"

Blaise pouted at him and then turned to the twink. "Have a seat for a moment, Reginald. I need to have a little chat with my roommate. Won't be a second."

The lad shrugged and sat down. Without another word, Blaise stalked towards the loo and Draco followed, knowing by his walk that Blaise was irritated. Well, that made two of them. Blaise slammed open the door, startling the sole occupant standing before one of the urinals. "Out!" Blaise ordered.

"You don't own the place!" the bloke protested.

A Stinging Hex caused him to yelp in pain and he complained bitterly as he quickly fastened his clothing and rushed out, threatening to inform the owner as he went.

"You've been a fucking stick in the mud all night, Draco, now out with it," Blaise snapped. "What is your bloody problem?"

"My problem is that I'm tired and do not want to be here at all, and yet I've spent hours watching you climb all over everything that moves--including  _ Harry fucking Potter _ , whose girlfriend you share an office with, in case you've forgotten--and now you've attached yourself to some idiotic twink--"

"I got rid of Zach Smith for you, so the least you can do is shut the hell up about Reginald. He's hot and available."

"I don't even want to talk about Smith. Your taste has become unbelievably questionable."

"Zach is cute. And I still want you, Draco, so what does that say about my taste?" Blaise sauntered closer. "Or can it be that you're jealous? You can have me all to yourself, you know. All you have to do is say the word."

Draco stepped back with a growl. "It's not going to happen, Blaise."

Blaise's dark eyes flashed with anger. "Fine. You don't want me, and I have no intention of being celibate for the duration of our time together. I'm willing to do this to save your life, but I'll be damned if I turn into some sort of monk to suit your fucked-up sense of propriety, or whatever the hell it is you're objecting to."

They stared at one another and then Draco nodded curtly. In truth, Draco had no idea why he was behaving so prudishly. He really didn't care whom Blaise chose to get off with, and he definitely did not expect him to give up sex, it was just… so bloody awkward.

"You're right," Draco said as he sagged against the wall behind him. "You're right. I'm sorry. I've been behaving like an arse. You are giving up more than enough by taking on this responsibility. You should not have to change your lifestyle for me when you are getting nothing in return."

Blaise's features softened and he stepped forwards to clap a hand to Draco's shoulder. "I wouldn't say nothing. You're fair company when you aren't being an arsehole."

Draco smiled. "And when is that, exactly?"

Blaise squeezed and gave him a laugh. "I'll let you know when it happens. Now come on, I've got a hot lad to fuck, unless someone else has snatched him up by now."

"He'll be there."

He was, of course, and Blaise collected him and then led the way to the Floo, walking steadily, since he had spent far more time on the dance floor than he had with a drink in his hand. Blaise frequently pretended to be drunker than he was.

They Flooed back to Blaise's flat and Draco went straight to the bathroom to wash off the residue of the club. When he came out, freshly showered, the bedroom door was closed and the sounds of loud sex issued from within.

Draco sprawled on the sofa with a hand on his forehead and wondered if a Silencing Charm would be worth breaking his no-magic vow. He realised bleakly that he needed to get used to it because such scenes would likely be repeated frequently in the months to come, painful though the knowledge was.

Blaise's twink was loud. "Oh! Yes, yes, like that! You are a sex god! Use me, pound me, yes, yes, yes!" issued from the bedroom and Draco snickered. He would be bringing that titbit up in future conversations. Sex god, honestly. As if Blaise's ego needed any stroking.

Draco's smile faded. Despite himself, the noises were beginning to affect him. The purple-haired bloke was very attractive, even though Draco did not understand Blaise's penchant for those with obvious Muggle influence. Most of the time Draco did not concern himself with how much sex he did or did not have. When the urge struck, he pulled himself off. He had neither the time nor the inclination for a romantic relationship, not to mention the fact that it would be callous to get involved when he had no idea whether or not he would live or die in the next few months. Despite apparent legends to the contrary, Draco did not sleep around (and had not, even at Hogwarts where most of the rumours of his sexual prowess had begun). He had never found girls attractive, much to Pansy's chagrin, and the few boys he had been attracted to had been either unsuitable, unattainable, or both.

Draco closed his eyes and relaxed into the sofa cushions. He loosened his dressing gown and listened, imagining the purple-haired twink being pounded by Blaise. It was a pretty picture, even in his imagination, made all the more tantalizing by the fact that Blaise would be more than pleased if Draco walked in there and joined them. For a moment, he considered it.

Draco slipped his hand into the opening of his dressing gown and then into his pants. He did not worry about Blaise or his guest wandering out and catching him fondling himself; it was obvious they would be busy for quite some time. Draco stroked gently, imagining himself joining them, seeing himself touching the pretty boy and kissing his smooth skin.

Draco frowned. It was not quite working. The simple fact that he did not want either Blaise or his boytoy made it surprisingly difficult.

"Dammit, Draco," he muttered, "stop being so bloody uptight and have a decent wank." He rolled his eyes at himself, but gave up and tried to imagine someone else making the sounds that drifted through the bedroom door. Someone like… Harry Potter.

He groaned; it was supposed to have been a joke, but suddenly the image of a naked, writhing Potter filled Draco's mind and his body took up the challenge like a battalion eager for war. He thought of Potter's easy grin and bubbling laugh, remembered how green his eyes had been across the table. For the first time, he realised that he'd been admiring Potter's lips the entire evening.

A deep, groaning cry issued from the bedroom and Draco put Potter's face on it. Bloody hell; it sent him straight to the edge of orgasm. "Oh, fuck, yes," dream-Potter said hoarsely with the voice of the twink.

"Oh Merlin, why him?" Draco whispered aloud and came at the thought of Potter arching and crying his name.

Panting and sated whilst the residual quivers tingled through his body, Draco realised he could have a problem. He had to be insane, getting off on Harry Potter. They had achieved only one non-confrontational conversation in their entire history.

_ Doesn't diminish the fact that he's bloody fit _ , Draco rationalised. He frowned as a new problem reared its head. Without magic, Draco would have to clean himself up manually. His horror at the idea was nearly overwhelming so he got up and fetched his wand to take care of that little problem. The Cleaning Charm was the first spell he had cast in nearly a week. The rush of magic felt so delightful that he was almost light-headed with glee. The emotion was short-lived. A crackle of pain erupted from his Dark Mark, clawing its way up his arm like something living beneath his skin. Draco clutched at his arm and bit his lip to stifle a cry. The sensation ebbed as quickly as it had begun, but it left him shaken and gasping for breath. Every spell was a potentially agonizing reminder that he would die if he did not rid himself of his magic soon.

Draco steadied his breathing and wearily sank down on the sofa again before tucking his wand beneath the cushions. He would worry about the reality of dealing with an absence of magic when it became a necessity. Things would work out with Blaise. He could do this.

Still vaguely listening to Blaise and his friend-for-the-evening, Draco curled up on the couch and tried to sleep.

oooOOOooo

The next week was bizarre. Draco returned to work with Blaise to find Ginny Weasley mimicking her Hogwarts self. She barely spoke to Blaise, ignored Draco entirely, and spent more time out of the office than in.

Blaise paid her little mind. His attention had been snared by the purple-haired twink. To Draco's annoyance, the little prat had spent nearly all of Sunday lurking about the flat, talking incessantly, and smarming all over Blaise whenever possible. His name was Reginald, but instead of utilizing a typical nickname like Reg or Reggie, Blaise had dubbed him "Naldy" which set Draco's teeth on edge. Blaise and his penchant for nicknaming was already a sore point with Draco. In second year he had attempted "Dray" until Draco's very-real threat to give him balls the size of cauldrons had halted that nonsense.

Whatever he chose to call himself, the twink showed up at the flat every night and banged Blaise long into the wee hours, usually loud enough that Draco finally insisted that Blaise use a Silencing Charm if he wanted to survive another night.

With the frequent absences of the girl Weasel, Potter had not made an appearance and there had been no awkward lunches featuring Potter and his associates. Draco told himself he was not disappointed.

Sunday loomed like a blot on the horizon. They had scheduled it as the day for the transfer. Despite growing headaches, occasional bouts of nausea, and excruciating pain associated with his every use of magic, Draco was not looking forward to becoming a Squib, nor was he excited at the prospect of handing his magic over to Blaise and being bound to the oversexed git for an unknown duration.

The only good to come of the whole wretched situation was The Book, as Draco had come to think of it. The Weaselette's scornful words had struck a chord within him and the more he'd thought about it, the more the idea had appealed. Why shouldn't he write a book? Not about Quidditch, of course, but about his experiences during the war. Wasn't that the advice always given to authors? Write what you know?

Draco did not mention it to Blaise, however, and instead asked dozens of questions about Quidditch rules and regulations. And while he did scribble down occasional notes for a dry Quidditch tome now and again, most of the time he was dredging up his memories of the war and putting them into a thick journal that he kept locked. He wore the tiny key on a silver chain around his neck. Locking Charms were out of the question and he had discovered the journal during one of Blaise's forays to Diagon Alley.

Blaise had not asked about Draco's need to keep his "Quidditch book notes" under lock and key. They were both Slytherin. They locked  _ everything _ .

Once the path had been embarked upon, Draco's memories came easily. Unfortunately, they were also linked inexorably to Potter, and called him to mind time and again. The whole of it had begun with Potter's entrance to Hogwarts. Draco's earliest memory associated with what would become the Great War was accompanying Potter into the Forbidden Forest. Draco would never forget the sight of Voldemort's vaporous form hunched over the dead unicorn. The fact that Draco had fled in terror was not a sore point. In his mind, he had done the sensible thing. Potter's renowned bravery seemed, even in hindsight, like bloody stupidity.

Girl-Weasley stormed in and slammed a Bludger down on her desk. She rifled through a stack of files and Blaise lifted a brow.

"Need some help?" he asked.

"No. I do not need your help." Her glare would have melted a lesser man.

"What is your bloody problem?" Blaise demanded and returned her stare. Draco sat up, hoping for bloodshed, or at least some angry hexing. Blaise and the Weaselette had been far too chummy for his taste last week; Draco much preferred their angry snarling.

" _ Fuck you _ ," she replied. She located her file, snatched up the Bludger, and flounced out.

Blaise looked at Draco, who shrugged. "I won't even pretend to guess," Draco said.

oooOOOooo

By Thursday, Draco was ready to wring Naldy's neck. His attractiveness had quickly waned in Draco's eyes until he saw only an annoying creature he wanted to hex every time he appeared. For his part, Naldy chafed at Draco's presence. He made constant subtle hints that he would prefer to be alone in the flat with Blaise, which finally progressed to unsubtle whinging.

"Salazar, he is always  _ here _ . Doesn't he have anywhere else to go? It's obvious why he doesn't have any  _ friends _ because he's such a git, but surely there is somewhere else he could hang out? Honestly, Blaise, you're such a good friend to put up with him. You're the sweetest." Draco overheard the exchange whilst making a cup of tea in the kitchen. Blaise and his annoying toy had taken over the living room in order to snog on the sofa. Naldy had doubtless spoken loudly on purpose in order that Draco could hear him.

Draco muttered under his breath and indulged in a daydream wherein he snatched Naldy's purple hair and tore it out by the roots in great handfuls. He smiled in grim satisfaction. Blaise, of course, only chuckled. Draco rolled his eyes at Blaise's refusal to come to his defence. Despite Blaise's indulgence, Naldy's time was limited. Blaise was already dropping hints that he wanted to go to the club again and Draco knew it meant Blaise was itching for a change.

Draco sipped at his tea and wondered how to slip past the pair to the bedroom. He had no desire to witness them frotting on the sofa, or worse.

He heard the bathroom door shut and breathed a sigh of relief. One--or both--of them must have gone to the loo. It was his chance to escape to the bedroom. His relief was short-lived when he turned to see Naldy striding through the doorway.

"Oh. Draco. I didn't know you were here. I thought you'd gone out."

"No such luck," Draco replied and took a drink of his tea. "I'm still here."

Naldy heaved a sigh. "Look, I was trying to be subtle, but apparently it's lost on you. I really like Blaise and I wouldn't mind spending some time alone with him. You know,  _ alone  _ alone? Without  _ you  _ anywhere around. Can't you go shopping or something? Visit some relatives? Go for a really long walk? Something?"

Draco looked at him over the rim of the teacup and smirked. "No. No, I really can't."

Naldy's eyes flashed. They were brown, which wasn't particularly attractive with the shade of purple he had chosen for his hair. Draco wondered if he should point it out, and mention that Blaise also preferred blonds, which Naldy obviously was not beneath the purple, judging by the dark eyebrows that lowered over his glare.

"You are unbelievable."

"It's a gift," Draco said and pushed past him. He had no idea if Naldy was really interested in a long-term thing with Blaise or if he was simply sniffing around Blaise's Gringotts' account. Draco didn't care. Blaise didn't do long-term. He'd picked up a genetic lack of commitment from his mother and it would take someone far more special than a purple-haired club twink to hold his attention for long.

Draco nearly walked into Blaise in the living room.

"Everything okay?" Blaise asked, pausing to give Draco a searching look. Draco knew he only had to complain and Naldy would be out of the house in a trice. Draco's hard knot of annoyance that had grown in the kitchen eased somewhat.

"Fine. Thanks." Draco gave him a genuine smile and Blaise grinned back and clapped him on the shoulder before heading to the kitchen. Despite his relationship failings, Blaise was a good friend. They would work out whatever issues arose after Sunday. Forcing down his renewed anxiety at the thought of Sunday, Draco escaped to the bedroom and lost himself in his journal, scribbling random memories of Harry Potter from second year. **_I was often annoyed at how everyone thought he was Slytherin's Heir because he spoke Parseltongue_** , Draco wrote. Looking back into the past, it was odd how Harry Potter seemed more like a scared kid and less like the evil nemesis thwarting Draco's every move. It was interesting how maturity and time could change your perspective, though not quite as funny how maturity and time could turn a scrawny, bespectacled git into a walking bundle of sex on legs.

Draco scowled and forced his thoughts back to boy-Potter. Thinking of adult-Potter would lead to nothing but trouble.


	6. CHAPTER FIVE - Tea

_**A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.** _

_**~Jean de La Fontaine** _

_ Saturday, 23rd July, 2005 _

The bathroom door slammed, jolting Draco into full wakefulness. He opened his eyes and gnashed his teeth with a sudden onset of rage. That inconsiderate little arsehole needed to vanish. Enough was enough. Draco swung his feet to the floor and reached for his dressing gown. He had been sleeping on the sofa during Naldy's nightly visits, for the sake of his own sanity. It was far less comfortable than his bed but much better than being anywhere near Blaise and Naldy's sexual antics. Draco shuddered.

Sleeping on the couch was bad enough, but when the callous bastard took to waking Draco up at the ungodly hour of six o'clock on a Saturday morning… Well, that was akin to throwing down the gauntlet and Draco was more than ready to pick it up.

Naldy exited the bathroom and threw a pseudo-innocent look in Draco's direction. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

"Fear not. I take comfort in the fact that your antics, as annoying as they might be, are only temporary. While I am baffled at your ability to last longer than a single night with Blaise, the fact remains that no one has ever held his attention for longer than a fortnight. Time is ticking, Reginald, and it is not in your favour."

Naldy's innocent look twisted into a petulant glare. "You don't know anything!"

Draco gave him a condescending smile and walked into the kitchen. Naldy followed, puffed up like an angry peacock. His purple hair stuck out at odd angles and one section of it was matted with something that had apparently dried there. Draco wrinkled his nose, suspecting its origin.

"Blaise likes me a lot! He told me so!"

"He likes everyone a lot, you stupid twat." Draco was sorry he had given in to the urge to speak to the little monster. He opened the cupboard and took down his favourite teacup, wishing Naldy would get the fuck out of the kitchen. Draco could no longer use a simple Aguamenti to fill his cup; instead, he had to rely on the tap. It wouldn't do to have Naldy witness his lack of magic. Instead, he made a show of measuring the tea leaves into the metal strainer.

"Why are you even here?" Naldy demanded. "You're nothing but a disgusting leech! You don't even work for a living. Did you get kicked out of your home, is that it? Are you relying on Blaise's charily because you're a useless waste of space? I'll bet you can't even get a job because you used to be a filthy Death Eater!"

Draco lifted a brow. The puppy was getting bolder.

"That's enough," Blaise said quietly, having entered the kitchen to catch the last of Naldy's tirade.

Naldy blanched. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

"Draco is not going anywhere," Blaise told him in a tone Draco had rarely heard from him. "That is not negotiable. If you have a problem with him, then I suggest you gather your things and get out."

Naldy's lower lip quivered and his eyes grew huge. "No, Blaise," he whispered, sounding abject as a house-elf. "I didn't mean it. I just want to spend more time with you. It's selfish and I'm sorry." He twisted his hands together and his eyes filled with tears. Draco was almost impressed with his acting skills. "I humbly apologize, Draco, if I said anything that offended you. Feel free to hex me, if you must. I deserve it."

Blaise stepped forwards and ruffled Naldy's hair. "Aww, you are so adorable." Blaise gripped his jaw and squeezed. "Look at this cute face. You can't stay mad at him, can you, Draco?" Blaise pulled Naldy in for a kiss and the idiot melted into Blaise's arms. Draco debated throwing hot tea on the both of them, except that his cup was still empty. His moment of hope that Blaise would kick Naldy to the curb fizzled, but he knew Blaise was no idiot. It was wise not to lose the bird in hand before the one in the bush was captured. Blaise would find a replacement for Naldy and then toss him over.

"If you don't mind," Draco said and tipped his head towards the doorway. He had given up on tea and just wanted to escape, but they were blocking his exit.

Blaise pulled his lips away with a loud smack. "Draco! I have a brilliant idea! Let us all go to breakfast. We can sit down together and get to know one another better. Well, Naldy and I already know each other quite well," Blaise leered at him and earned a simpering giggle, "but you two could stand to thaw the ice a bit. And I'm starved. What do you say?"

"I could eat," Naldy said quickly, "and I would love to get to know Draco. We only seem to speak to one another in passing."

_ Too bad you're not  _ passing  _ in the mortal sense _ , Draco thought dryly, and then gave Blaise a look that let him know he would rather dine with a flock of bloodthirsty hippogriffs.

Blaise returned a winning smile. "Come on. It will be fun. We can go to that place in Ethere Alley. You remember, Draco. The one with the éclairs."

Draco nearly groaned aloud. That was playing dirty Quidditch. Blaise knew he could never refuse Ophelia's éclairs. They were angel-spun puffs of pastry filled with the most delicious custard ever to tempt a tastebud. He swallowed, mouth already watering.

"Give me twenty minutes to shower and dress."

"Done." Blaise laughed and pulled his boytoy out of Draco's path. For a couple of éclairs and a cappuccino, Draco would even put up with Naldy's odious company.

oooOOOooo

The café was crowded, as usual, and Draco hoped they were not too late, although Ophelia also served up a decent traditional breakfast that would do if the éclairs were gone. They joined the queue and within ten minutes were headed towards a small table when Blaise suddenly veered and called out, "Harry!"

Draco closed his eyes and wondered what he had ever done to Fate to deserve such punishment. He followed Blaise and the boytoy across the room to a small table where Harry Potter sat before a plate of éclairs and an open newspaper.

"Blaise!" Potter said. "Fancy seeing you on a Saturday."

"Are you waiting for someone?" Blaise asked.

"No," Potter replied and picked up his newspaper--the Quibbler, Draco noted--and shrank it before tucking it into the jacket that hung on the back of his chair. "Sit down, please. Hello, Malfoy. And…"

"Reginald," Naldy said and stuck out his hand, appearing somewhat star-struck. "But you can call me, um… Naldy. Blaise does."

Potter shook his hand and smiled. "Pleasure to meet you, Naldy. I like your hair." Naldy sat down next to Blaise and touched his purple locks, beaming with obvious pleasure at having been complimented by the famous Harry Potter. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Malfoy? Are you staying?" Potter asked with a grin.

Draco pulled out a chair and sat next to Potter. "Are you going to eat those?" he asked, eyeing the pastries.

"Yes. But I suppose I can sacrifice one to your sweet tooth."

Draco immediately took up an éclair and bit into it, closing his eyes at the blissful taste. Salazar, but the woman knew how to bake.

"We'll order some more," Blaise said while perusing the menu. "Where's Gin-Gin?"

"Are you kidding? She would rather die than wake up this early on a Saturday. I might see her later today." Potter shrugged.

Draco finished the pastry and licked his fingers. "Did you order breakfast?"

"Not yet," Potter said. "I just popped in for some tea, but I am a bit hungry. I'll take the orders up if you know what you want."

"What are you having, Blaise?" Naldy asked, leaning over Blaise's shoulder to look at the menu. "I can't decide."

"Bacon and toast," Blaise said. "With beans on the side, I think."

"I'll have the same," Naldy declared and snuggled closer to Blaise.

Potter's eyebrows rose and he looked from Naldy to Draco and back again. Draco smirked. If Potter was uncomfortable with Naldy's possessive displays of affection here, he would have choked to see their antics in the flat.

"Toad in the hole," Draco said and threw Blaise an enigmatic look. He thought his breakfast choice was an apt description of Naldy. Blaise snorted and shook his head, picking up Draco's subtle joke.

"Right, then," Potter said. "Be right back."

Draco admired Potter's arse as he departed. The bloody bastard filled out a pair of Muggle jeans right smartly.

"I didn't know you knew Harry Potter," Naldy was saying in an awed tone. He fanned himself with one hand. "I feel so flustered!"

Blaise laughed. "I suppose it's different for those of us that went to school with him. Draco broke his nose when they were kids."

Naldy gasped.

"Do not bring that up when he comes back, Blaise. No need to remind him that he's had good reason to despise me for years. I'm not sure why he's decided he doesn't, frankly."

"Probably Gin-Gin convincing him to let bygones be and all that."

"Right," Draco replied sarcastically, "because she's so magnanimous that way."

"She is!" Blaise insisted. "She's just been a bit… off this week."

"She's been a viperous twat," Draco muttered under his breath. Blaise glared at him, obviously not hearing the words, but suspecting Draco's meaning all the same.

"Who are you talking about?" Naldy asked with a petulant whinge to his voice, apparently not fond of being ignored.

"Potter's girlfriend," Draco replied at the same moment Blaise said, "My office-mate."

Potter returned and took his seat. "That's sorted. Should be ready soon. What are you lot up to today?"

Draco shrugged since his options were limited by whatever Blaise planned to do, and that most likely consisted of something pornographic with Naldy until it was time to leave for the club.

"Nothing much," Blaise replied. "We might go to the Motion Potion tonight."

Draco refrained from banging his forehead on the table, although he considered it. Blaise knew he despised that club; it was loud and full of glitz and flashing lights. Utterly headache-inducing.

"Oh, I love that place!" Naldy piped up. "It's so much fun! Last time I went they had bubbles filled with glow-paint. We had to get almost naked to avoid ruining our clothes. Of course, that's half the fun." He winked.

"I need some tea," Draco said shortly and got up to fetch a cup. When he returned with the beverage, Naldy was still chattering, blathering on about some club-related incident that Draco did not bother to listen to.

"I'm surprised you're off today, Potter," Draco said when the idiot paused for breath. "I thought the Aurors were always working."

"Rotating shifts. Every so often we get a weekend."

Potter's name was called from the counter. "That's us!" Naldy cried. "I'll fetch it. Be right back. Don't miss me." He pecked Blaise's cheek with an exaggerated smacking noise and pranced away.

Draco sighed loudly.

"Um… Sorry, but… I thought you and Draco were…" Potter said to Blaise and made a vague gesture between the two of them.

"Oh, we are!" Blaise said quickly. "But that doesn’t mean we can't have a bit of fun on the side. Have you ever been in a threesome, Harry?"

Draco gaped at Blaise, trying to wrap his mind around the concept that not only had Potter assumed they were  _ together  _ together, but also that Draco would be fine with including a third in their relationship. All of which was coated with a special layer of horror at the very idea that Draco would allow Naldy into his bed at all, whether part of a ménage a trois or not.

"I see," Potter said quickly before Draco could speak. "And no, I'm not very adventurous, I suppose."

"You don't know what you're missing," Blaise said and bestowed his patented dazzling grin upon Potter.

Potter coughed and took a drink of his tea. His cheeks were flaming red.

"Blaise," Draco said through clenched teeth, "might I have a word with you in the washroom?" The icy daggers he shot at Blaise across the table must have been effective, for Blaise nodded immediately.

"Yes, of course. We'll be right back, Harry."

Draco nearly bowled over Naldy as he stalked from the table; he had Levitated their plates and they followed in his wake. They wobbled when Naldy squeaked. "Merlin, Draco, watch where you're going, why don't you?"

Draco ignored him and slammed his way into the loo, which was thankfully unoccupied. He turned on Blaise the moment he entered. "What are you doing?" Draco demanded. "Potter thinks we are  _ sleeping together _ ? And as a package deal with that purple-haired nitwit, no less?"

"Relax, Draco," Blaise said and leaned over the sink to check his hair in the mirror. "It's the simplest explanation. We are together all the time and will be even more so after tomorrow. People are going to assume we're a couple… unless you're willing to go public with the real reason you can't be more than twenty feet from my side for the next however many months." Blaise caught his stare in the mirror and raised a brow.

Draco had the petulant urge to slam his fist into the wall. Blaise's reasoning made sense, but…

"Why are you so upset? Potter doesn't care what we do. Sometimes I think he doesn't care about anything at all."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Blaise shrugged. "Never mind. Gin sometimes talks to me. I shouldn't reveal confidences."

Draco stared at him, wondering at his cryptic words and what interesting titbits Ginny Weasley had revealed.

"We should go back," Blaise said, straightening. "Our food is getting cold. Are you going to tell Potter you're dying, or go along with my story?"

"I don't have much choice as long as your fucktoy is present. I certainly don't want him learning the truth." Draco rubbed at his temples. "You're right. It doesn't matter and it will be easier this way. I'll be out in a minute."

Blaise nodded and disappeared through the door.

Draco leaned on the sink and stared at his reflection in the mirror. What did it matter if Harry Potter thought he was involved with Blaise and his flavour-of-the-week? Soon Draco would be a Squib and Potter's opinion would be the least of his worries.

He just needed to get through the day, one more terrible night at a club, and then, tomorrow, everything would change.

oooOOOooo

Draco returned to the table and pasted a smile on his face.

"You okay?" Potter asked. To his credit, he actually sounded concerned.

Draco smirked at him. "Not casting any dark magic, Potter."

Potter scowled. "That's not what I meant."

Draco patted him on the leg and laughed. It felt good to wind up Potter, almost like old times. He tried not to notice that Potter's thigh was hard as walnut. Draco would bet there wasn't an ounce of fat on him. And how interesting would it be to verify that theory? "I know, Potter. I apologize. Old habits die hard."

"Did Draco really break your nose?" Naldy asked.

Draco debated kicking him beneath the table, but Potter did not seem to have heard. He was staring at Draco. "Excuse me? Did you actually apologize?  _ To me _ ?"

Draco bit his lip to keep from laughing aloud. "I refuse to say it again, so if you missed it the first time, you're out of luck."

Potter's smile was brighter than the first rays of morning sunshine. "Then I'll put it into my Pensieve when I get home, just to relive the momentous occasion."

Draco's attempt to hold back his chuckles failed miserably and when Potter laughed again, Draco could not help but join him.  _ Oh god _ , he thought helplessly,  _ Potter and I are having a moment. _ It was slightly surreal and rather brilliant.

And almost immediately destroyed by Naldy.

"You two are very chummy," Naldy said with an edge of ice that Draco did not miss. "I begin to see why Blaise keeps you around, Draco."

Draco's laughter cut off and he turned his stare on Naldy. Did the imbecile seriously think Draco's dubious connection to Harry Potter was Blaise's motivation for their friendship? The very idea was ludicrous. Draco glanced at Potter, who gaped back at him with the same bafflement, and lost it completely, nearly falling out of his chair at the expression on Potter's face. It was bloody priceless.

After long moments of gut-wrenching laughter, Draco became aware that Potter was laughing just as hard and clutching Draco's shoulder while he leaned close as if to keep his balance while he shook with hysteria.

"Blaise…" Draco gasped, finding the need to question his friend's sanity in picking up such a plonker as Naldy. "Blaise, really?"

The question set Potter off again and Draco leaned into his touch as another round of belly-deep laughter shook him.

Naldy's outraged huff and, "What is so bloody funny?" only made it worse. Even Blaise began to laugh, probably infected by Potter's deep, vibrant chuckles. Draco could hardly see through tears of hilarity. Many of the café patrons had gone silent to stare at them whilst others chortled along, unable to discern the cause, but infected by their laughter all the same.

"Stop," Draco said finally. Potter's forehead rested on Draco's shoulder and he was fairly howling with mirth, making it even harder for Draco to quit laughing. His sides ached and he could not remember the last time he had laughed so deeply for so many minutes.

"Can't," Potter said on a gasp.

"People are looking at us like we're mental," Draco murmured, trying to control his chuckles by keeping his eyes firmly closed. He dared not look at either Potter or Naldy, or he might never stop. The stitch in his ribs felt like a dagger.

"We are mental. Especially you," Potter said, but he levered himself away from Draco. His black hair brushed against Draco's cheek, leaving only the memory of its softness, and he eased his death-grip on Draco's shoulder. "Merlin, I haven't laughed like that in bloody ages. I can't even remember the last time."

Draco wiped his eyes with his napkin and saw Blaise grinning at him with a bemused expression. "Definitely mental," Blaise agreed.

Naldy was not at all amused. His face was set in sulky lines and his glare could have melted a cauldron. "I don't get it."

Draco intentionally kept his gaze averted from Potter, knowing that to look at him would start the cycle all over again. He felt another laugh bubble up and suppressed it with effort. A snort from Potter made it more difficult. "Never mind," Draco said, a bit smugly. "You wouldn't understand." His meal looked far more appetising than it had before, as if the laughter had purged his dull feelings and made everything look fresher and more wonderful. He supposed he had Potter to thank for that. He picked up his utensils and cut into his meal.

Naldy made a harrumphing sound and got to his feet. "I need more tea," he announced.

Potter took a bite of jam-smeared toast and crunched into it as Naldy flounced away. "He seems… nice," Potter said after swallowing.

"He's a fucking pain," Draco muttered.

"He isn't so bad," Blaise protested.

Draco shook his head. "He must be a bloody dynamo in the sack, Blaise, otherwise you would have given him the boot days ago because beyond that, he has no redeeming qualities whatsoever. I don't understand--"

He stopped talking as Naldy returned, clutching a large cup of steaming liquid. He was moving far too quickly and chanting, "Hot! Hot, hot, hot!"

It almost seemed to happen in slow motion. Draco watched as Naldy tripped, and the hot tea sloshed out of the cup, droplets spinning through the air like glistening beads, heading straight for the unprotected skin on the back of Potter's neck. The spell was simple. Draco had cast it hundreds of times in the past, so much so that he no longer needed his wand in hand; its presence on his person was enough to send the magic winging outwards.  _ Protego  _ was a strong charm and would have blocked the scalding tea completely. This one simply diverted its course so that it avoided Potter and splashed harmlessly upon the floor.

Six heartbeats after the spell had left his lips, everything was fine. Draco had a moment to think he had avoided any ill effects, for once, and then… everything was red-hot pain. It flashed from his Dark Mark faster than ever before, sizzling through his veins and turning every nerve ending into a howling censor of torment. Draco couldn't scream; he couldn’t even breathe.

His vision went white and he had no idea if he had fallen from his chair or not. His hearing seemed to be fine, oddly enough, and he heard Potter's panicked voice calling his name.

"What's the matter with him?" Potter demanded.

"Get out of my way!" Draco heard Blaise cry.

"Ugh, is he sick or something?" Naldy's voice dripped with disgust. Draco wished he could move so that he could kick the git under the guise of being under the influence of the curse. The happy thought nearly cut through Draco's gut-wrenching pain. Nearly.

" _ Salazar, move _ !" Blaise yelled and Draco heard the loud scraping of wood upon the stone floor.

"I'm taking him to St Mungo's," Potter said and a curious scent that Draco could not identify assaulted him as warm arms surrounded him, seeming to dull the agony wherever they touched. Draco moved closer, striving for an end to the torment.

"No, Potter! You can't!" Blaise sounded frantic, but his voice faded beneath the throbbing onslaught overtaking Draco's senses.

_ Can't _ , Draco echoed, though he could not remember why. And then there came a familiar wrenching sensation just before everything turned black.


	7. CHAPTER SIX -  A visit to St. Mungo's

**CHAPTER SIX**

_**There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors of perception.** _

_**~Aldous Huxley** _

Harry Apparated to the main reception area of St Mungo's, uncertain where to take Malfoy. Was it spell damage? A curse? An illness? Malfoy was no help, having passed out the moment they had Apparated. Harry hoped he hadn't made Malfoy's condition worse.

The Welcome Witch looked at the man in his arms and asked, "What is his malady, dear?"

"I… I don't know. He collapsed at a café in Diagon Alley. It looked like he was in a great deal of pain and now he's unconscious."

"Could it be poisoning?" she suggested. "Do you know his name?"

"Draco Malfoy."

She stood up and peered over the counter. "Ah. So it is." She smiled, but it looked somewhat sad to Harry. "You'll need to take him to Magical Bugs and Diseases. Floor Two, dear."

"Magical Bugs and… But--"

"They are well-acquainted with Mr Malfoy's condition. They will assist him. Floor Two, unless you would prefer to wait for someone to fetch him." She gestured towards the lift and Harry, although puzzled, carried Malfoy to the lift after casting a Lightening Charm on him. He was sparer of frame than Harry had expected, but was still no lightweight.

When the lift doors opened, Malfoy was whisked away from him by a pair of healers in lime green robes. Harry made to follow, but a witch in white trimmed in the same green halted his path. "Auror Potter, sir, if you would follow me, please."

With one last glance after Malfoy, Harry entered the lift behind her. She pressed the button for the fifth floor and then conjured a clipboard and a quill. Her name tag read Abigail Barnes - Apprentice Healer. "What can you tell me about Draco Malfoy? Did he collapse? Did you notice any symptoms beforehand? Seizures? Excessive sweating? Do you know what triggered it?"

"Um…" Harry tried to think back to the incident. "He seemed fine beforehand. We were laughing, and having breakfast. Then he cast a spell. Someone nearly spilled hot tea on me and Draco cast a wandless Diverti Charm. It didn't seem like a big deal, and he saved me from a scalding, but then he fell to the floor looking like he'd been hit with a  _ Crucio _ . I thought it best to bring him here as soon as possible."

She scribbled on the parchment and nodded. She looked more like a librarian than a healer, with dark brown hair pulled back into a severe bun. Bright blue eyes peered at him over square-rimmed glasses. "You did rightly, Auror Potter. Thank you for bringing him in. We will take care of it from here. If you would care for a cup of tea, you'll find it there." She gestured just as the doors opened. Harry stepped out and she added, "Of course, that's assuming you want to wait for word on his condition. If not, I bid you a good day."

"Wait!" he cried. He hadn't expected Abigail to abandon him. "What's wrong with him?"

The doors closed before she could reply. Harry nearly swore aloud, but at the last moment, he noticed there were other people present in the room. Several of them stared and whispered to one another, but no one said anything overt. Harry sighed and walked to the tea service, uncertain whether or not to leave. He would have returned to the café, but chances were good that Blaise and Reginald had already left.

He poured a cup of tea, sweetened it, and took a sip before the lift door opened again and someone called, "Harry!"

He turned to see Blaise striding through the doors with a determined look on his face, followed by Pansy Parkinson.

"How is Draco?" Blaise demanded.

"I don't know. They took him to Magical Bugs and Diseases. They seemed unsurprised to see him. Why is that, do you suppose?"

"Because he's been here before," Blaise said before Parkinson jabbed him with an elbow and gave him a glare. "What?"

"If he doesn't already know, he doesn't deserve to know," she said.

Blaise's lips pursed into a pout for a moment, but then a calculating look came over his features as he looked at Harry. "You really don't know, do you?"

Harry bit his tongue on a retort. Bloody Slytherins! He had nearly forgotten what it was like to deal with them, other than an occasional on-the-job reminder. There was one former Slytherin in the Department of Records who answered all questions with questions. It was maddening.

"I wish you hadn't brought Draco here," Blaise continued with a sigh. "They won't do anything for him, but getting him out of their clutches is never easy."

"Did you call his mother?" Parkinson asked Blaise.

"I sent her an owl."

"Hmm. We have some time, then." She skirted Harry without looking at him and made her way to the teapot.

"I need a cuppa," Blaise said to Harry, almost apologetically. "Are you staying?"

Harry wasn't sure why he needed to, since he had no idea what was going on, but that very thing annoyed him and he nodded curtly. He had nowhere else to be, anyway.

Twenty minutes later, he was beginning to rethink his stubborn stance. Blaise and Parkinson were sat opposite him; they murmured together quietly the whole time, clasping hands. Harry drank tea and thought about Draco Malfoy. What he remembered most from their recent interactions was Draco's almost palpable air of despondency. He was much quieter now than he had ever been at Hogwarts, as if life had utterly lost its shine. His bouts of laughter had been all the more surprising in comparison.

Harry smiled at the memory of their mutual amusement. It had been unexpected and astonishingly pleasant. He studied Blaise and wondered why Naldy was not in attendance, although he hadn't seemed at all fond of Draco. Harry found it difficult to even picture the three of them in a relationship. Of course, if it was more of a casual sex arrangement he wasn't sure it qualified as a  _ relationship _ .

The lift doors opened and Harry glanced over, not expecting to see anyone he knew. Families of patients had been entering and exiting at random times, seldom speaking as they made their way to chairs scattered about the room, avoiding eye contact and the other occupants. It took him a moment to register Narcissa Malfoy's presence. She ignored Harry and marched straight to Blaise. "Mr Zabini. I am very disappointed in you. I do not know how this happened, or why, but our agreement is now terminated."

Blaise shot to his feet and opened his mouth.

She held up a hand. "Do not speak to me. You were supposed to protect him and you could not even manage it for a fortnight. Thank Salazar Draco insisted upon the trial period. Circe alone knows what we are supposed to do now."

"Narcissa, please…" Blaise's voice cracked and Harry almost felt sorry for him, although he had no idea why.

Narcissa shook her head. Her lips were set in a thin line. "I am going inside to convince them to release Draco to me. We will talk later." She paused and looked at Pansy, almost as an afterthought. "Ms Parkinson. Thank you for coming." She turned away, nodded at Harry without speaking, and departed, not seeing the face Parkinson pulled behind her back. Harry thought such behaviour was a bit rude, although not unexpected coming from Parkinson. She had been more than willing to sell Harry to the Dark Lord, after all. Apparently, she hadn't changed much.

Blaise looked on the verge of tears. His hands were clasped so tightly together Harry thought he heard his knuckles creak in protest. "She's right," he said. "I didn't take it seriously enough. I was more concerned with how it would affect my life than how Draco was taking it. He deserves better than me."

Parkinson grabbed for his arm and missed as Blaise turned and walked briskly to the lift. "Blaise!" she cried out.

"Tell Draco I'm sorry," he called without turning around. The doors closed and he was gone.

Harry looked at Parkinson and was about to demand some answers when the doors opened again. Expecting Blaise, Harry was surprised when a tall woman marched out and extended her hand to him. Her blond hair was piled atop her head and secured with multi-colored butterfly pins whose wings opened and closed slowly. Several strands of her hair had escaped and curled around her face, which was quite attractive, especially when she bestowed a brilliant smile upon him.

"Harry Potter," she said, "I am so pleased to meet you. Abigail mentioned you had brought in Draco Malfoy and I was afraid you might still be waiting. His mother has taken him home, more is the pity." She pumped his hand with a strong motion. "I am Healer Hildebrand. Gertrude Hildebrand, but everyone calls me Tru."

"Hello, Healer… Tru." Harry smiled awkwardly. He was never comfortable meeting people and could not tell if she was one of those awed by his presence or not. She was at least an inch taller and he had to look up to meet her amber-coloured eyes.

"I am ridiculously tall, I know," she said and released his hand. "It draws nearly as many stares as that, I'll wager." She gestured at Harry's forehead and he refrained from reaching up to touch his scar.

"So, um… Malf--Draco has left, then? Is he all right?"

She frowned. "As all right as he can be, for now. There are some experimental potions we would like to try, but his mother has been very stubborn about allowing us to treat him. Perhaps--"

"And rightly so!" Parkinson burst out. "He is not a test subject! You don't want to heal him, you only want to use him to further your bloody research. A pack of sadists, you are!"

Healer Hildebrand's stare grew cold as she looked Parkinson up and down. Her lips seemed to curl in disdain. "Miss Parkinson. Never far from Draco's side, are you?"

Parkinson's glare was heated. "Never far at all."

"Commendable loyalty. You should have been in Hufflepuff House."

It did not sound like an insult to Harry, but Parkinson apparently took it as one. Anger fairly crackled around her and Harry feared she might unleash some uncontrolled magic. He surreptitiously reached for his wand.

Hildebrand dismissed her and turned back to Harry. "Anyway, I simply wanted to meet you and assure you that you need not wait around any longer. My colleagues talk about you frequently, but apparently you are ridiculously healthy and have never been to my section, preferring to frequent Spell Damage. I suppose that is a good thing, yes? No infections or lingering illnesses for you." She laughed and it was a rich sound. Harry smiled and had the strange urge to flirt with her. The image of Ginny's stern face stopped him from doing so, but Hildebrand winked at him as if sensing his thoughts. "Good day, Auror Potter. Try to stay out of Spell Damage."

She turned and entered the lift, giving him a small wave before the doors shut. Beside Harry, Parkinson's hands were clenched into fists.

"I loathe that woman," she growled.

Harry looked at her with a raised brow. From what he had seen, Parkinson loathed pretty much everyone in the world, with the exception of Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. "Why? She seems nice enough."

Parkinson turned her venomous glare on him. "You really are an idiot, Potter."

"You're not going to tell me what's wrong with Draco, are you?" He had thought about asking the Healer, but would have felt as stupid as Parkinson accused him of being when everyone assumed he already knew.

Her stare turned calculating and she gave him a toothy smile. "I might. If you buy me lunch."

"What's the catch?"

She actually smiled. "I want to go to Fabre."

Harry groaned. He should have known.

oooOOOooo

Harry felt slightly revolted. The restaurant was so popular that even lunch reservations were made weeks in advance. Harry had taken Ginny, Ron, and Hermione once and the staff had been so obsequious that he had vowed never to return. He supposed they behaved that way with everyone, but for him it was off-putting. The food, however, had been exquisite.

There were a few people waiting when he and Parkinson stepped through the doors. Harry leaned close to the host and said, "Hi. I’m really sorry I don't have a reservation, but I was hoping…"

The host smiled and said, " _ Oui _ , Mr Potter, do not apologize. We always reserve space for our most special guests, should they decide to drop in unexpectedly. If you will wait for a moment, I shall return." Harry nodded and kept his gaze anywhere other than on the people waiting. He felt terrible for jumping the line and using his name to secure a table. The fact that he hadn't even needed to mention it was disturbing enough.

He risked a glance at Parkinson, who had no such humility. She gazed with a smug expression at the other patrons and her eyes were bright. "I could get used to this, Potter. Just how well are you and the girl-Weasel getting on these days?" She laughed out loud at his horrified expression.

The  _ maître de _ returned and led Harry to a small table tucked into a private booth with high walls made of dark wood. Several multicolored glass globes floated above the table and gave off a soft glow. A single orchid in an ornate crystal vase adorned the table, next to three small scrolls sealed with violet ribbons.

"Will this be acceptable?"

"Yeah, it's great. Perfect," Harry said. He felt utterly out of his element, but the man only bowed and departed after assuring him that someone would be right round to take their orders. Parkinson slid into the booth and touched the centremost scroll. It sprang open.

Harry sat down and had no time to speak before a white-clad man popped up next to the table. " _ Bonjour _ , I am Henri, your sommelier. Would you like a glass of wine, or perhaps something stronger?"

"Is this your most expensive bottle of wine?" Parkinson asked, jabbing a sharp-looking nail at the scroll.

"Indeed."

"We'll take it," she said and shot Harry a look, as if daring him to negate her. "Information costs, Potter."

Harry shrugged and nodded at the sommelier's questioning look. The man departed. Parkinson did not speak before he returned with two glasses and a bottle, which he presented for their perusal. Harry indicated Parkinson, having no familiarity at all with the bizarre rituals that surrounded wine-pouring. It all tasted the same to him, anyway, bitter and barely palatable.

When the ceremony was completed and the man departed again, Parkinson took a drink and then set the glass aside. "Draco is dying."

Harry's jaw dropped. " _ What _ ?"

She sighed heavily. "I shouldn't be surprised that you don't know, but I am. I thought you were an Auror, or do you have that title in name only?"

He closed his jaw with a snap. "Why should I know? I don't keep tabs on Draco Malfoy."  _ Any longer _ , he amended to himself.

"It isn't just Draco, you arse. It's his father, and Greg's father, and Theo's. It's half a dozen former Death Eaters, and probably more." She looked away and took another drink. "It's likely Greg, too, although we don't know where he is."

Harry stared at her. Lucius Malfoy had died just after the holidays, Harry recalled. “After a long illness,” the Daily Prophet had reported. Harry remembered feeling a sense of satisfaction.  _ Good riddance _ , he had thought and had spared barely a thought for Draco and his mum. He had testified on their behalf after the war and then paid them little mind. Harry had not even returned Draco's wand, rationalising that it was tied up in all that ownership nonsense with the Elder Wand. He had deemed it better to be safe than sorry.

Theo Nott's father had died in Azkaban, also from an unknown illness. So had Augustus Rookwood. Harry frowned and wondered that it had never occurred to him to connect the deaths. All former Death Eaters, all dead from illnesses within a year's time.

The elder Goyle had been released from Azkaban, probably assisted by the Malfoys; it was known that the Ministry kept close tabs on him, but Harry had not heard that he had died. Gregory Goyle had disappeared after the war and all efforts to trace him had failed.

Parkinson sneered and nodded. "No one bothered to take any notice, have they? They were Death Eaters, after all. Better off dead, right?" She tapped another scroll, the menu this time, and perused it.

"If it's an illness that affects former Death Eaters, why would it be an issue for the Ministry? Wouldn't that be something for St Mungo's to deal with?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh yes, they jumped right on it. Top priority for them, too, don't you know?"

Harry frowned. Anti-Voldemort sentiment had been high since the war. Former Death Eaters had been imprisoned, disappeared, or kept such a low profile--like the Malfoys--that they had practically vanished from the public eye. Harry only heard about those they still sought for their participation in the war, such as Rabastan Lestrange.

He shook his head. "All right, I admit to having heard nothing about this, and probably I should have made the connection earlier. It's possible someone at the Ministry already has and they simply haven't alerted the Auror Department. Not surprising, really, if it's an illness and isn't curse-based."

She looked away from the menu scroll and her expression was as sober as he had ever seen. "An illness that only affects former Death Eaters, Potter? How can it not be curse-based? And the connection has been made clear to the Ministry. Narcissa took it directly to the Minister himself when Lucius fell ill. No. One. Cares."

Harry sat back in his chair, stunned in spite of himself. Surely Minister Shacklebolt would never be so callous as to ignore a personal appeal?

"An  _ illness _ , they say." She sneered. "Bloody strange illness that only affects those with the Dark Mark, don't you think? So many are already dead. Those with the oldest marks went first. Draco thinks it was left by You-Know-Who. Some sort of delayed curse triggered by his death."

Harry felt chilled at the mention of Voldemort. It was not at all farfetched to believe he might have left a legacy behind, in the event of his ultimate failure. "Okay, tell me about this. Tell me everything you know." 

"Food first, then talk," she replied and lifted her menu again.

oooOOOooo

Parkinson had nearly finished her entire meal before she spoke again. Harry waited impatiently, knowing that to rush her would be counter-productive.

"The curse seems to be tied to the Dark Mark," she said. "It also appears to be age-based. Not the age of the victim, but the age of the Mark itself. Those marked during You-Know-Who's younger years were the hardest hit and the first to die. Draco only started to feel the effects part way through his father's illness."

"What sort of effects?"

"Pain, mostly. Every time he casts a spell, there seems to be some sort of backlash. The severity varies and, so far, is unpredictable. The only certainty is that it grows worse over time until even  _ exposure  _ to magic can be debilitating. Eventually, the bearer’s magic destroys itself and then starts on the body. It's horrific. Draco had to watch his father die. Slowly, and in agony." She swirled the wine in her glass. "While the rest of the world cheered."

Harry swallowed through a lump of guilt. He had been hungry earlier, having barely touched his breakfast before taking Draco to St Mungo's, but now his meal had turned unappetizing.

"What was Narcissa talking about? Has she found a solution?"

"She thinks so. Draco seems certain it will work, so I am assuming they tested it.” She reached across the table to touch his hand. “Probably best not to ask too many questions about that, since you’re an Auror."

Harry ignored that. "What is it? How does it work? And where does Blaise come in?"

She blinked at him as she withdrew her hand. She paused as if considering whether or not to tell him, and then blurted, "The spell will remove Draco's magic and transfer it to Blaise, or to whomever Narcissa selects as the new Vessel since she is displeased with Blaise right now."

" _ Remove his magic _ ? Is that even possible?”

“They believe it is.”

“So he would become, what? A Squib? Is Draco willing to give up his magic?"

"What choice does he have? Do you expect him to curl up and die, as so many others have?"

"No, of course not." Malfoy was many things, but a quitter was not one of them. If anything, his stubbornness rivalled Harry's own.

"Exactly. So he needs a compatible, and reliable, Vessel to hold his magic for him. How is your  _ rognons sautés chasseur _ ?"

"Um, delicious." He had allowed her to order for him and he knew the dish was probably something he would never eat if he knew what it was, but it had been tasty. He shook off his misgivings and focussed on her words. "What do you mean by hold? For how long? Is there a time limit?"

Parkinson shrugged. "Apparently that is the part not tested. It could be months, it could be years. For all we know, it could be permanent, but there are no other options."

"So Blaise was Draco's Vessel and now he isn't? Does the spell revert? What went wrong?"

"I don't know. Blaise wouldn't tell me. And he isn't Draco's Vessel yet. They have lived together for the past couple of weeks as a trial period. They were meant to cast the real spell tomorrow, but apparently, that is moot, unless Blaise can grovel enough before that cow Narcissa, and get his status back." She scowled and took a drink of wine. "Chances are she's already looking for a replacement for Blaise."

Harry frowned. He wondered if Draco had been seeing Blaise for the convenience of the spell, or if he had chosen Blaise because they were already involved. He doubted Parkinson would be forthcoming on that particular topic.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Harry asked.

"Because I'm bored and I wanted to eat here." She shrugged and poured the last of the wine into her glass. Before Harry could speak, she leaned forward, eyes flashing. "Actually, Potter, I am very disappointed in you. You are supposed to be a world-class do-gooder, but you don't seem to have done  _ any  _ daring deeds since you wiped out You-Know-Who. It seems to me you could use a new cause." She leaned back and looked away. "Of course, these people are only Death Eaters. I suppose you wouldn't be lauded as a hero if you found a way to stop the curse. Not much in it for you, is there?" She gulped the last of her wine and got to her feet, somewhat unsteadily. "Thanks for lunch, Potter. See you around. Or not."

With that, she headed for the door and was gone.


	8. CHAPTER SEVEN - A worthy opponent

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

_**The one permanent emotion of the inferior man is fear - fear of the unknown, the complex, the inexplicable. What he wants above everything else is safety.** _

_**~H. L. Mencken** _

When Harry left the restaurant, he went straight to Ron and Hermione's. Ron was lounging sideways in his favourite chair and listening to the Kestrals versus Cannons Quidditch match on the wireless. He lifted a hand at Harry, but said nothing, intent on the frantic words of the announcer.

Hermione was in the bedroom with papers spread out upon her desk, working, as usual. She greeted him with a hug and then went back to scribbling on a piece of parchment.

"What's bothering you?" she asked.

He sprawled on the bed and grinned at her. He knew better than to ask how she'd figured something was up since she always seemed to know.

"Draco Malfoy," he admitted.

She turned away from her desk to look at him. "Now, there's something I never expected to hear again. Ron told me you all had lunch with him the other day. Did he make that large an impression?"

"Not at the time, no. Well, sort of. He was really quiet and not at all like himself. Then I ran into him at the pub the other night when we were celebrating and we actually had a decent conversation, at least until Blaise returned. Draco seemed really down. Still, I didn't think much of it until I saw him yesterday. He came into Ophelia's when I was having a nosh. Blaise and another… friend of theirs accompanied him. We started to have breakfast together and it was surprisingly pleasant until Draco cast a spell and I ended up hauling him to St Mungo's."

"St Mungo's? What sort of spell was it?"

“ _ Diverti _ . You could do it in your sleep.” Harry frowned. "Apparently there is some sort of fatal illness tied to the Dark Mark that has been killing off former Death Eaters, including Lucius Malfoy. And I knew nothing about it."

She looked away with a curt nod and Harry sat up with a start. "Merlin! _ You knew _ ?" He tried not to sound accusatory, but he hated it when people hid things from him. Not that omission was technically hiding.

"I suspected,” she corrected, “especially after Nott and Lucius Malfoy."

"And you didn't think it was important?"

"Of course it's important, Harry. I spoke to Kingsley about it and he told me they are handling it at St Mungo's."

"You didn't think to mention it to me?"

"Why would I have?"

"Because it's related to Voldemort! The Malfoys think it's curse-based, a latent spell left by Voldemort to punish his followers in case he failed in his ultimate goal."

"I thought of that, but the timing doesn't make sense."

"Timing?"

"It started just over a year ago. Why then? Why not earlier? I can't find any connection to a special date associated with Tom Riddle or Voldemort. You know how he loved his patterns and portents. Unless there is something I missed."

"So you're saying it wasn't Voldemort?"

"I'm saying it's more likely to be an unrelated party. Someone with a grudge against Death Eaters, and you know how many of those are out there."

Harry snorted and sat back. "Half the wizarding population."

"Probably more."

"All right, so chances are good that it's a curse. And St Mungo's is doing nothing about it, and neither is the Ministry."

"How do you know St Mungo's is doing nothing?"

"Pansy Parkinson told me."

Hermione gave him a hard look and Harry held up a hand. "I know! She isn't my favourite person, either. But she cares deeply for Draco and that has never been in question. He's going to die unless they can stop this spell. I admit I barely batted an eye when Lucius died, but this… Well. I saved Draco's life too many times to let some stupid curse take him now."

"I suppose that makes a strange sort of sense. And I don't want him to die, either, even if he is a complete prat. From what Ginny says, Blaise is a decent chap now, so maybe Draco has changed for the better, although I find that hard to believe."

Harry thought back to their mutual attack of laughter at breakfast. It seemed so long ago, already. He remembered the solid feel of Draco's hand on his thigh and the spicy scent of his hair when Harry had nearly buried his face in his neck, close enough that Draco's soft hair had brushed against his skin. And he had been warm and real when Harry had held him close to Disapparate. His memories of adult Draco warred with his recollections of him as a boy. They almost seemed to be two different people.

"He's changed so much he's barely recognizable," Harry admitted. "I suppose watching his father die and knowing he could end the same way was… sobering."

"I imagine it would be."

"So what are we going to do about it?" Ron asked from the doorway and bit into a large yellow apple.

Harry turned to look at him in surprise. "We? But you hate Malfoy."

Ron shrugged. "Doesn't matter. We're Aurors, aren't we? It's our job to fix things. Hermione is really busy with this International Conference on House-elf Rights thing. She can't take this on. We'll have to figure it out ourselves, I suppose."

Hermione launched herself from her chair and drove her husband into the doorway with the force of her hug. "Oh, Ron, sometimes you are too wonderful for words, did you know?"

He snickered and swallowed his bite of apple. "Well, I suspected."

Harry lay back on the bed again and stared at the ceiling whilst trying to ignore the sounds of heated snogging from across the room. He loved his friends, he really did, but he wished they would confine their displays of affection to… Well, he supposed this was their bedroom. The thought gave him pause until his brain screamed away from the resultant images. Better to think of them having a purely platonic marriage, for the sake of his sanity.

"Enough, Ron," Hermione said breathlessly. "I have to get back to work and Harry is making choking noises."

"He'll live." Ron took another bite of his apple and spoke around it. "C'mon, mate. Let's figure out our plan of attack." It sounded more like "Met's migger ou' uh man mu'mack" and only Harry's long familiarity with deciphering Ron's food-speak enabled him to understand it.

"Yeah, okay. Thanks." He levered himself off the bed. "Good luck with your International Conference thing, Hermione."

"Thanks, Harry. It's not easy going over the laws for eight countries--or lack of laws in many cases--and trying to make them all work together equitably."

"I imagine not," he said with a grin. He knew she loved working for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement or she wouldn't have spent every waking moment at it.

He followed Ron back downstairs and sat on the couch before telling him everything he knew about the Death Eater curse. There wasn't much.

oooOOOooo

When Harry returned home it was early evening. He puttered around his flat for a bit and then realised what he really wanted to do was check on Draco Malfoy. Narcissa had taken him home without letting anyone know his condition. Of course, he could also use some information about the curse, which was as good an excuse as any to visit the Malfoys.

Harry Apparated before the iron gates and was barely there long enough to peer through the bars and look for white peacocks before a house-elf popped up to ask his business.

"I'm here to see Draco."

"Master Draco is resting and is not to be having visitors."

"Well, then, may I speak to Narcissa?"

The house-elf stared at him suspiciously and seemed to consider his question. "Mistress Narcissa is not forbidding visitors. Mister Harry Potter may be entering."

The gates swung open and Harry walked onto the gravel. The house-elf had already disappeared, probably to announce him. Harry found himself watching for peacocks to avoid thinking about the last few times he had been to the Manor (twice for Auror business, and once when kidnapped by Snatchers), but he saw not a single bird. He wondered if they had been banished after Lucius' death.

The front doors opened when he reached them and he stepped into the huge foyer. The same house-elf watched him for a moment, as though Harry planned to go on a pillaging rampage, and then nodded when he stopped and waited while unbuttoning his cloak. Harry had gone for traditional wizarding attire, dark trousers, a belted grey tunic, and a voluminous crimson cloak.

"Viney is to be announcing Mister Harry Potter. Please to be waiting here." The house-elf snapped its fingers and Harry's cloak vanished from his hands to reappear hanging from a coat tree several feet away.

"Thank you," Harry said.

The elf disappeared again and Harry wandered down the hall, looking at the portraits that lined the walls. He heard voices as he approached open French doors at the midpoint of the hallway and he ambled closer, recognising them both.

"…promise you I am going to take this more seriously. I was stupid and selfish and I can't apologize enough," Blaise was saying.

"You did not even last a fortnight, Mr Zabini. How will you feel when two months have passed? Or six? Do you expect me to trust you with Draco's life after today's fiasco?" Narcissa's voice was unmistakably cold.

"Yes, I do. Who else can you find on such short notice that will be compatible  _ and  _ put up with Draco? You know as well as I that he is not the easiest person to live with, and being tied to him for an indeterminate time is going to test the hardiest of his companions. Who else can you possibly find?"

"I'll do it," Harry said, stepping into the room. They both stared at him as if he had appeared as the new incarnation of Voldemort.

Blaise recovered first and waved a dismissive hand at him. "Potter. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Pansy explained it to me. I want to help if I can."

"No."

Harry turned to see Draco standing in the hallway. He was barefoot, which explained why Harry's hadn't heard his approach. He wore soft-looking white trousers and a pale blue jumper that was probably made of some fancy wool from some exotic creature. His hair was rumpled and he looked like he'd just climbed out of bed. Harry's heart gave a curious lurch at the sight of him.

_ It's pity _ , he explained to himself,  _ nothing more _ .

"Draco--" Narcissa began.

"Absolutely not. He has no idea what he would be getting into. I would rather take my chances with Blaise than hand over my magic to…" Draco waved his hand at Harry.

"Yes, exactly," Blaise said with an emphatic nod. "See?"

" _ Blaise _ has already proven himself irresponsible. If anyone can be trusted with Draco's life, I think Mr Potter is the most qualified."

"Why?" Blaise snapped. "Because he's an Auror? No offense, Harry."

"Because he has already saved Draco's life more than once."

"Running out of ways to play the hero already, Potter?" Draco asked with a sneer, apparently willing to ignore his mother's words completely. "You have no idea what you are offering. Now go away."

"I'm offering to save your life," Harry said quietly. It had been impulsive, granted, but once he had spoken up, it seemed like the right thing to do. He felt a curious sense of relief, as though he had simply been biding his time over the past few years, waiting for his next challenge. Truth be told, he enjoyed his job, but it had been getting tedious. Hermione had accused him more than once of being an adventure addict and he supposed it was true, on some level. He had enjoyed the post-Voldemort peace and kept boredom at bay chasing down criminals with the Auror Division, but through it all he had felt that something was missing. Some greater purpose.

"No," Draco said again in an adamant tone. His grey eyes flashed and his jaw jutted out stubbornly.

An answering tide of obstinacy rose up within Harry and he nearly grinned as he warmed to the challenge. This, he realized, was what he had missed. Bloody hell, it was good to have an antagonist again.

_ Welcome back, Malfoy _ , he greeted silently and headed into battle.


	9. CHAPTER EIGHT - An excellent match

_**An invincible determination can accomplish almost anything and in this lies the great distinction between great men and little men.** _

_**~Thomas Fuller** _

"I am not going until you give me a valid reason for rejecting my offer," Potter said calmly and Draco thought he detected a hint of amusement beneath his words. Did the fucking prat think this was some sort of game?

"Is the fact that you're  _ insane  _ not a valid enough reason?" Draco snapped.

"Draco, you cannot simply reject Mr Potter out of hand." His mother's voice was placid, soothing.

"I can and I will."

"Harry," Blaise put forth, "you don't know what you're offering. Think of your job. And you have no idea what effect Draco's magic will have on yours."

"And you do?" Potter countered. "I think I'm better suited to handle it than you would be."

"Because you're the Chosen One?" Blaise glared, hands on his hips. "I'm sorry, but I think that ship has sailed. You did your duty and now you can stop playing the hero."

"Is that what you think it is?" Potter demanded. "Playing?"

"Mr Potter! Blaise!" his mother cried. "Let us try to remain civil."

Draco's head began to pound. The residual effect of Potter Apparating him to St Mungo's and severing the Tethering Charm was a lingering headache that no potion would negate. His skin felt like it was on fire and a churning nausea kept him from eating anything more than tasteless slivers of dry toast.

"I need to think," Draco said and pushed through the combatants to reach the outer doors.

He escaped into the garden, walking gingerly on the pebbled pathway. He was glad his mother kept Warming Charms on the garden trails. It had been a surprisingly cool day and the growing shadows gave a distinct nip to the air. The charms extended to her precious rose bushes and they bloomed year-round. He stopped before his favourites--peach-coloured blooms that gave off a spicy, nutmeg-like scent. He breathed in the fragrance and tried to calm his racing heartbeat.

Blasted Potter, appearing like a fairy-tale knight-in-armour and trying to rescue him. Him, of all people! It was ludicrous.

"Are you all right?" Potter asked from behind him and Draco closed his eyes to try and steady his suddenly racing heart. Of course, Potter had followed him.  _ Of course _ .

"I am hardly in danger in my mother's garden, Potter."

"That's not what I meant."

Draco leaned down and breathed in the calming scent of the rose again. "I am fine."

"So. What do you really think?"

"I think your need to be a hero has warped your rational mind. Also, your ego is overinflated."

Potter chuckled. "You might be right about that. The warped bit, not the overinflated ego part."

"You don't think you're egocentric?"

"I know I'm not. Confidence should not be confused with vanity."

Draco glanced at him, reluctantly amused. "That was almost philosophical. Have you actually read a  _ book _ ?"

Potter's lips twitched and Draco was reminded of their laughing spell at the café earlier that morning. Had it only been that morning? It had been a bloody long day, and only now were the shadows deepening into darkness.

"I have been known to pick up a volume now and again."

Draco shook his head, unwilling to instigate an insult war. In truth, he was tired and wanted to return to his bed. Nothing but sleep ever seemed to help when he felt raw and ragged.

"Do you really trust Blaise Zabini to hold your magic?"

"I don't trust Blaise to hold a chocolate frog," Draco muttered, too low for Potter to hear. More loudly, he said, "Yes. Of course, I do."

"Well, your mother doesn't seem to think he can do that great a job. I think I could do better."

Draco sighed. "Potter, you don't even know what you're offering."

"Pansy told me about the curse."

"I am willing to wager she did not tell you everything."

"What sort of everything?"

"The  _ proximity  _ everything."

"Proximity…? Okay, maybe she didn't tell me everything, since that word was never mentioned. Is it important?"

Draco closed his eyes and nearly clapped a hand to his forehead. Of course, she hadn't mentioned the whole  _ living no more than thirty feet apart _ portion. Otherwise, Potter would never have considered it. Quelling his foolish sense of disappointment, Draco enlightened him.

"Thirty feet?" Potter repeated for the third time. Obviously, Potter had only offered because he had thought he could hold Draco's magic and trot about on his daily business as usual.

"Just go away," Draco said wearily.

"Give me a minute, all right? It's a bit of a shock! Bloody hell, so that's why you've been spending so much time with Blaise at the Ministry. 'Writing a book.' Merlin, I thought that was fishy and I was right!"

Draco glared. "I can write a book! I  _ am  _ writing a book. Two of them, in fact."

"A book on Quidditch rules. Honestly, how ridiculous can you get? You were probably drawing naked doodles the entire time you were trapped in Blaise and Ginny's office."

"They were not naked," Draco protested. The mention of Potter's girlfriend took him aback. How could he have forgotten her? He seized upon it. "There! That's why you cannot consider this mad course of action. The Weaselette would be very upset with you." He darted a glance at Potter, who was gnawing on a thumbnail and appeared deep in thought.

"Huh. She probably would,” Potter muttered. “Still. Thirty feet. That's not so bad. It's not like we would be handcuffed together or anything."

_ Handcuffed together _ was an image Draco definitely did not need. He tried to banish it and did so only by picturing Goyle in a tutu. It was Draco's standby image in cases of desperation, topped only by the thought of Argus Filch in lederhosen, but that one was kept purely for extreme emergencies. "I'm sorry, what?" Draco asked, possibly lingering on the  _ handcuffed  _ idea longer than he'd thought.

"Just thinking aloud. So if the spell hasn't been cast yet, why were you with Blaise? Pansy said you were testing it out?"

Draco closed his eyes. It was obvious he would not be easily rid of the persistent prat. "Yes. We cast a modified Tethering Charm that would apply a jolt of pain if we got too far from one another. This morning when you took me to St Mungo's, you destroyed that spell."

"But you were in pain before we Disapparated."

"That was the curse."

"Because you cast a  _ Diverti _ ." Potter's voice was a hushed whisper.

"A moment of stupidity," Draco said, "easily remedied by leaving my wand at home."

Potter's green stare fixed on him. "You moved in with him because of the spell, didn't you?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. He wondered if he should continue the charade of being in a relationship with Blaise. It shouldn't matter to Potter one way or another. He decided that saying nothing was the best course of action; Potter could make up his own mind about it.

"I think you should give me the same opportunity," Potter said, thankfully dropping the former line of questioning.

"Opportunity?"

"Two weeks. Isn't that what your mother said? You gave Blaise a two week trial period to see if it would work out. I think you should give me the same courtesy. You should at least have a choice, don't you think? Instead of jumping at Blaise, who has already proven himself less than reliable, at least give yourself another option." Potter shrugged. "Who knows? You might discover that Blaise is the better choice after all."

"You want me to live with you for two weeks?"

Potter snorted. "I want you to live with me for as long as it takes to save your life. But I'm willing to start with two weeks if that's what it takes."

Unaccountably, Draco blushed. Coming from Potter, it sounded ridiculously intimate, although Draco supposed that was mainly his stupid, ridiculous, unwanted attraction speaking.

"We don't even know if our magic is compatible."

"I'm not worried about that." Potter waved it away.

"You're an Auror, Potter. You don't know what you're asking."

Potter shrugged. "I'll work it out. What do you say?"

"If I agree, will you go away right now and let me go back to bed?"

"Absolutely."

"Then I agree. Only because I am obviously deranged from lack of sleep and the residual agony of someone destroying my Tethering Charm."

"Sorry about that." Potter grinned through his apology.

"I will send you an owl," Draco said pointedly.

"All right. Um. Goodnight." Potter extended a hand to Draco, who looked at it for a long moment before gripping Potter's fingers and squeezing more tightly than was warranted for a handshake.

"Goodnight, Potter."

Potter took his abused fingers back and rubbed them absently. He gave Draco an enigmatic look and headed towards the Manor. Draco watched him go. Bloody hell, he would be living with Potter for two full weeks. He wasn’t sure whether to throw a party or Crucio himself.

oooOOOooo

  
  


" _ Are you bloody mental _ ?" Ron shouted for the third time.

"Not mental, but possibly deaf," Harry muttered and rubbed at his left ear. Merlin, the idea wasn't that bad, was it? Well, possibly it was, but Harry refused to back down now that he had made the offer.

"I can understand you wanting to help him, Harry, really I can. But there are limits."

"I can't explain it, but it feels like the right thing to do."

Ron shook his head. " _ Living with him _ . It's insane. You'll want to kill each other after an hour. And that won't even be the worst of it. How are you supposed to  _ work  _ with him twenty feet away at all times? You're an Auror!"

Harry smiled at his unconscious mimicry of Draco's words. "Thirty feet."

Ron gave him a horrified look. "You aren't planning on giving it up, are you? Quitting the Aurors?"

"No! Of course not. I like my job, most of the time. I might have to do less fieldwork, or something--"

"Fieldwork's the only interesting part," Ron muttered.

"--but Kingsley will let me work something out, I'm sure, even if I have to take some sort of sabbatical."

"Probably should take that up with Kingsley before you embark on this craziness, don't you think?"

"Yeah. First thing tomorrow, I'll talk to him."

"And have you thought about Ginny? How is she going to deal with Malfoy being around all the time?"

Harry flushed guiltily. In truth, he hadn't thought of her at all during his impulsive decision, except when Draco had mentioned it.

Ron made a disgusted noise. "That's what I thought. I don't know what's up with you two, but you seem more like casual bloody acquaintances than a couple."

Harry wasn't sure how to reply, since it was true. He supposed he and Ginny needed to have a serious sit-down and go over a few things. It was not something he looked forward to; he had a good idea what her feelings would be towards the idea of him living with Draco Malfoy for the foreseeable future.

"I can hardly wait for that conversation," Ron said with a snort. "I plan to savour every moment. In fact, she'll be back here with Hermione soon."

Harry groaned. "You're a cold man, Ron Weasley."

"I'm not the one planning to shack up with Draco Malfoy," he pointed out. "You're digging your own grave here. All I can do is try and take away your shovel."

"Thanks." Harry sighed. He supposed it was crazy, and there was no reason for him to intervene, really. Blaise seemed to have learnt his lesson. Perhaps he would buckle down and be more responsible. The thought made something tighten in Harry's midsection. He didn't want Draco living with Blaise; that was the root of it. Granted, they already seemed to have some sort of relationship, even if it was purely sexual (Harry grimaced at the thought), but for some reason, it bothered Harry to think of it becoming more than that.  _ Why _ ?

_ Because Blaise is a fickle bitch _ , he thought to himself, although why he should care about that in relation to Draco was a mystery he preferred not to delve into at the moment. Ginny had passed on enough tales of Zabini's conquests that Harry could have filled a volume with names. And Harry had witnessed him hanging all over that purple-haired twink, Naldy, the one Draco appeared to have hated.

Before Ron could torment him further, Hermione and Ginny stepped out of the fireplace, arms laden with baskets and bags. Harry and Ron jumped up to help them carry their purchases to the kitchen. Occasionally, the girls were inspired to spend their Sunday afternoons cooking, an activity that Harry and Ron heartily approved of since they got to share in the spoils.

"The cherries are in and they smell divine," Hermione said. "I might make tarts, even though I've never tried."

"It's easy," Ginny said. "Mum has a great recipe."

Hermione's lips thinned and Harry suppressed a smile. He knew Hermione had issues regarding Molly's cooking. She would not even attempt to make anything that was a regular meal of Molly's, preferring to dabble in gourmet recipes that Molly had never tried. _Coque au Vin_ was a favourite, and Peking duck, chicken Kiev, and a Greek-inspired dish made with olives and pungent seasonings. Hermione was quite a good cook, but she hated having any of her dishes compared to Molly's. Ron had learned never to mention his mother's cooking if he valued sleeping in the bedroom rather than on the living room sofa.

"What's on the menu today?" Harry asked.

"Curried fish," Hermione replied. "They had some fresh cod at the market and I still have that nice packet of curry powder. I should probably use it, plus Ron loves curry."

"With jasmine rice?" Ron asked as he popped a cherry into his mouth.

"And naan from that new bakery in Exception Alley. Don't touch that, Harry, it's for later."

Harry peeled off a section of flatbread and popped it into his mouth. It was soft and delicious, even cold. Hermione shot a Stinging Hex at him, but he deflected it with a laugh.

"Brat!" she cried.

"You love me," he said around his mouthful of bread.

She snorted but did not bother to deny it. He saw a smile lurking at her lips.

Ginny finished stacking items in the pantry and walked out dusting her hands. "So, Harry, has anything interesting been happening with you lately?"

By the tone of her voice, Harry knew that he was in trouble. Ron choked on his cherry and Ginny pounded on his back, possibly with more force than warranted, until he gasped. "Enough! Bloody hell, woman."

"There has been one recent development…" Harry said tentatively. Ginny lifted a brow at him and Harry was glad she wasn't helping Hermione slice the fish. He didn't want her anywhere near knives when he told her about Malfoy. "Um… It's like this…"

"You're moving in with Draco Malfoy. Or vice versa. And holding his magic while he becomes a helpless, dependent Squib."

Harry stared at Ginny while Hermione turned around, brandishing the aforementioned knife with what Harry hoped was not intent to harm. She asked, " _ What _ ?"

"How do you know all of that?" Harry asked, figuring it out just as the words left his lips.

"Blaise came to see me last night. He was very upset. He wanted me to talk you out of it."

Harry's automatic sense of resistance to being told what to do reared its head, but he forced it down. "And will you? Talk me out of it?"

Ginny glanced at Hermione. "Maybe we should take a walk."

"You can cast a  _ Muffliato  _ and talk in the other room," Hermione said, visibly annoyed at the prospect of being left out.

"I think the fresh air might do Harry some good. His brain seems to be overheating." Ginny elbowed him in a friendly fashion and he realised she was still capable of surprising him.

"Yes. A walk." Harry nodded like a puppet and headed for the door to the garden.

"Don't be long!" Hermione called. "This won't take more than thirty minutes."

"And I won't save any!" Ron added.

"We already knew that," Ginny mumbled as she joined Harry at the door. He decided to cast Warming Charms rather than bother with fetching their outer clothing and she shrugged and followed him out.

"You don't seem that upset," he commented when the door had closed and several steps had carried them into the cool evening. The temperature was still unseasonably cold and nearby light fixtures were muted by a haze of fog. It felt more like October than July.

She shrugged. "I'm surprised it took you so long, actually."

He looked at her, puzzled.

"To do something completely barmy. You haven't really pulled any crazy stunts since school. I assumed you were getting bored."

"You think I'm only doing this because I'm bored?"

"Partly. And partly because you can't ignore a cry for help. You never could."

"Dra--Malfoy is not exactly crying for help. He flat-out refused, actually."

She hummed and then looked at him sidelong. "But I'll bet you talked him into it, didn't you?"

Harry tugged at his hair. "Not completely," he admitted.

"Trial period?"

"Is there anything you don't know?"

"Yes. I don't know why you and I can't seem to get it together." She gave him a pained-looking smile, held it for a few moments, and then looked away, blinking in an obvious attempt to hold back tears.

"Gin..."

She shook her head and walked away a few steps. "Don't. This always happens. You talk to me and we both vow to work harder at our relationship and everything seems better. And everything  _ is _ better, for a few days. Everything is great. And then we start to make that long, slow slide back to behaving like...well, like siblings, or something. I think it's our comfort zone."

Harry winced and felt moisture sting at his eyes. His throat went tight and it was hard to swallow. Ginny walked back and placed a hand on his arm. He clutched at her, pulling her close. He had no idea what to say but had to suppress the usual words that threatened to spill forth. She was right, the words would be plasters, not long term solutions.

"I'm not blaming you." Her voice shook, but she cleared her throat and continued on. "I'm not. I am just as much at fault. The time we spend alone together is almost non-existent, and I cancel as often as you do. And neither of us seems to get particularly upset over it." She shook her head when he was about to speak. "I think that whatever spark we felt at Hogwarts sort of… burned itself out during the war. Everything since then has seemed, I don't know, lacklustre. Or is it just me?"

Harry blinked a few times to clear his blurring vision. His heart ached and he had to fight back whatever words it would take to make things right. Her words were true, as much as he hated to admit it. They had both been going through the motions for a long time and he had been too much of a coward to acknowledge it. "It's not just you. I wish. I wish I knew why. It just feels like…"

"Like something is missing?"

"Yeah." He sighed and looked at her with a sad smile.

"Exactly. We get on fine. If we tried  _ really hard _ we could probably make it work. Settle down like Ron and Hermione, focus on our jobs, eventually have a family. A charming little house. Children. Pets. Sunday dinners at Mum's. All of that. We could be good together."

Harry felt a pang of guilt. He should want those things. He  _ did  _ want those things. And Ginny was right; maybe they should try harder, spend more time together--

"But I think we both deserve better. We shouldn't have to try, and I don't want to settle for  _ good _ , do you? We are energetic people, Harry, and our relationships should be more than the dull monotony we've had recently. We both want more from life. I want butterflies in my stomach and heart-pounding excitement and breathless expectation. Don't you?"

The fire in her voice caught his imagination. He realised he had never really thought about a relationship using quite those terms. Butterflies and excitement and breathless expectation. Had he ever felt that way? Perhaps, when he'd fallen for Cho Chang, and later, when Ginny had first kissed him. But those feelings had faded and he'd feared that maybe, just maybe, he had mistaken them for surprise at having felt anything at all. Was it even possible that such feelings could last beyond the first flush of desire?

Ginny drew in a deep, unsteady breath. "Anyway, instead of plodding along being  _ good _ , I prefer to think, to hope, that maybe somewhere out there is an  _ excellent  _ match for both of us."

"An excellent match," he repeated and suddenly wondered if she had someone in particular in mind. It opened his mind to a vista of possibility. He had been so focussed on his own feelings that he hadn't even realised that Ginny might have been struggling with the same issues. Maybe she had found someone  _ excellent  _ and wanted to let Harry down easily. Bizarrely, rather than jealousy, the idea brought him a sense of relief.

She went on, "And hey, if that notion is crap and it doesn't work out in five years or so, then maybe we can admit defeat and gravitate back to one another." She punched him on the arm.

Surprisingly, her analysis made him laugh. "Brilliant. We can be one another's boring fall-back."

She giggled. "I solemnly swear that I will be your mediocre consolation prize in the event you don't find the epic love of your life."

"Oh please," he retorted, "as if you'll still be single while I'm wasting away alone."

"Should we make it a competition, then? What shall we wager?"

"That's not what I…"

"Scared I'll win?"

"Of course you'll win! You're amazing. Why do you think I don't want to wager?"

"Don't be stupid. You're Harry Potter," she said and poked him in the chest. He scowled at her and realised if they broke up he would not miss the poking. Her nails were quite pointy and she used them frequently. "The most eligible bachelor in the wizarding world. How about a new broom?"

"You're Quidditch-obsessed. Did you know?"

She shoved him and he nearly fell into one of Hermione's prized flower bushes.

"Okay, fine! Loser buys the winner a new broom! The latest model!"

She held out her hand with a grin and Harry straightened and took it. She smiled at him and it almost reached her eyes. Harry found it hard to breathe through the ache in his chest, but he knew she was right. She deserved better. They shook hands with false solemnity and then she leaned in to peck him on the cheek. "Everyone will think we're mental, of course, but I am looking forward to one thing."

"What's that?"

"Watching you explain this Malfoy thing to Hermione." She laughed wickedly, let go of his hand, and trotted back up the walk.

"When did you become so evil?" Harry yelled.

"Recently!"

"I blame it on you keeping company with Slytherins!"

He snorted at her laugh and watched as she disappeared through the door. He glanced around the garden in amazement and shivered as the Warming Charm faded and died. He and Ginny had broken up, and he was planning to tie himself to Draco Malfoy. Truly it had been an unexpected week.

"Quit stalling!" Ginny shouted through the door.

Harry sighed and went to face the music.


	10. CHAPTER NINE - Defendo Fidelius

_**A vow is fixed and unalterable determination to do a thing, when such a determination is related to something noble which can only uplift the man who makes the resolve.** _

_**~Gandhi** _

Harry did not escape Hermione's questioning until after nine, despite the fact that he actually knew very little. She demanded details about the spell they planned to use (Harry had no idea), insisted upon extracting every bit of knowledge he had about others who had been affected by the curse (another area in which he was information-deficient), and finally settled for creating a detailed list of questions (that he should have already considered) which she expected him to provide answers for. He had to admit she was right in seeking more information, something Harry probably should have done before making his impulsive offer to Narcissa Malfoy.

Hermione also harangued him endlessly about how his decision would affect his job. The fact that he planned to talk to the Head Auror and Kingsley first thing in the morning had not deterred her from nagging. "This will seriously impact your career, Harry. It isn't something you can take lightly."

He sighed at the memory as he draped his jeans over the bedroom chair. He was not planning to take it lightly and he knew it would affect his position, but he was still determined. There was time, anyway, as Draco had not seemed particularly enthused about the idea and would probably have to be brought round to it by his mother. He had only agreed to the trial period to get Harry to leave Malfoy Manor. Harry could only wait for Draco's owl to see if he would honour the agreement.

Harry's t-shirt joined the jeans and he cast a Warming Charm before climbing between his sheets. His jaw cracked when he yawned and the last thing he thought of before closing his eyes was Draco Malfoy squeezing his fingers in a hard handshake and the too-taut lines of his face as he waited for Harry to leave.

oooOOOooo

"Wha--? Whazzat?" Harry sat up, heart pounding and wand clutched in his fist. The faint cry came again.

"Mr Potter, please!"

The woman's voice came from downstairs and Harry flung himself out of bed and snatched his glasses in passing. He tried to identify the voice. Was it Hermione? Luna? Ginny? But none of them called him Mr Potter.

He bounded down the steps and into the living room where the fire was blazing. He was shocked to see Narcissa Malfoy's face in the flames.

"Mrs Malfoy?"

"Mr Potter--Harry. Can you please come through? Something dreadful has happened."

"Um… yes. Yes, of course, just let me… Well, I'll be right there." He could not very well accompany her dressed only in pants.

"Please hurry. I am at the Manor. I will leave the Floo open for you." She disappeared.

Harry dashed back upstairs and stuffed his legs into his jeans. He grabbed a jumper from his wardrobe without looking at it, shoved his feet into his trainers, and then hurried back downstairs.

"Malfoy Manor!" he cried with a handful of Floo powder and then stumbled out into the room he had occupied the previous day. Narcissa paced by the window, wringing her hands. She hurried over the moment he appeared. "What's happened?" he asked.

"It's Draco. He was having trouble sleeping, so he asked for a Dreamless Sleep potion. He has never had any adverse reactions to a potion before, so we had no idea…" She took a deep breath that was nearly a sob.

"Where is he?"

"His bedroom. He collapsed. I called his healer, but there is nothing to be done. The curse is accelerating."

"Can I see him?"

She nodded and hurried out. Harry followed; his mind was whirling. Narcissa would only have called him if she were truly worried. The path to Draco's room seemed endless, filled with long hallways and curving staircases. At last, she walked through an ornate wooden portal and Harry stopped short upon entering. He had always known Draco's room would be impressive, but it was larger than Harry's entire flat.

He shook off his awe and looked instead at the still figure that lay upon the huge bed. Only Draco's upper torso and head were visible, the rest covered by thick blankets. Healer Hildebrand stood next to the bed, wand raised and lips moving.

"Has there been any change?" Narcissa asked.

"Not in the last ten minutes," Hildebrand said in a quiet voice. "He does seem to have taken a turn for the worse. Why did you send for Mr Potter? Would not a Curse Breaker have been more prudent, since you seem to think Draco's illness has a magical origin, rather than a natural one?"

"Is there anything you can do for him or not?" Narcissa asked in a flat tone. Her face was expressionless.

Healer Hildebrand sighed and tucked a strand of her long hair behind her ear. She shook her head. "I am afraid not. I dare not even try one of the experimental potions, now that he has taken Dreamless Sleep. The ingredients do not mesh well and would likely do him more harm than good."

"Then you may go," Narcissa said.

Healer Hildebrand turned a flinty stare upon her, but Narcissa met it fiercely. At last, the healer looked away and walked to the door. "Fine. I wish you luck." She paused on her way out with one hand on the doorframe. She glanced back and said, "If you need me for anything, do not hesitate to call. I do care about my patients, Mrs Malfoy. Goodnight, Mr Potter."

Before Harry could return the sentiment, she was gone.

Harry walked closer and looked at Narcissa, who had dropped almost gracelessly upon the edge of the bed. "Is she right? Would a Curse Breaker be a good idea?"

"Don't you think we have already tried them all?"

Harry wondered if they had tried Bill Weasley, and thought it unlikely. About to suggest it, he was distracted by Draco arching partway off the bed with a pained cry. He twisted in the blankets and Narcissa firmly took hold of his shoulders and held him tightly to the bed.

"Help me," she begged.

Harry reached out and pressed down on Draco's legs just in time. He thrashed like a swimming merman and nearly threw off Harry's grip. His hands flailed in the air and Narcissa grunted as one of Draco's hands connected with the side of her face. Even so, she did not relinquish her grip on his shoulders, holding him down as best she could. A ragged shriek tore from Draco's throat and it ended in a gurgling, choking sound.

"No! No, no, no!" Narcissa cried. "Don't you dare, Draco!"

"Turn him!" Harry shouted and helped her to roll Draco onto his side. He hoped it would prevent him from choking in case he vomited. Harry lifted his wand.

Narcissa snatched it and held tightly. "No spells!"

"I'm not casting it on him. It's just oxygen." He pulled his wand away gently and cast the spell to freshen the air around Draco's head, hopefully making it easier for him to breathe. It seemed to help, as the flailing eased into shuddering twitches.

Narcissa stroked Draco's shoulder and seemed on the verge of tears. Harry sank down on the bed next to her.

"I have seen this before," she said. "It will get worse before the night is out and by morning he will either have recovered somewhat or be unable to move at all. I refuse to take the chance that he might worsen. We need to do the transfer tonight." Her eyes fixed on Harry's. "I will understand if you are unwilling to move so quickly, despite your earlier offer. I will call Blaise Zabini."

Harry swallowed. He had not even had a chance to talk to his Auror supervisor or Kingsley. Dealing with Hermione had given rise to a dozen questions he needed to ask. He wanted more time. And Draco would probably be fine with Blaise Zabini. Probably.

He opened his mouth to apologize to her and then a hand clamped onto his wrist. He looked down to see Draco's pale hand gripping his arm, holding it like a child would hang onto his mother. Draco's skin was incredibly pale in contrast to Harry's. He wondered if Draco had seen the sun at all in the past year.

Draco's eyes were closed and his breathing was ragged. The gesture seemed to be completely unconscious, but it was a solid, warm reminder that Draco was alive. Alive, and in pain.

"I… I'll do it."

Narcissa bowed her head and let out a sigh that sounded almost reverential.

"What's involved?" Harry asked. "Do we need help?"

She shook her head and got to her feet. "I have practiced the spell six times a day since learning it. I could cast it half-awake. But I do need to fetch the tokens. If you will remain here for a moment, I will return."

He nodded. "I'll stay with him."

She hurried out and Harry moved closer to Draco. He reached out to smooth the hair back from Draco's brow, as it had fallen over his eyes. He tried not to think about the spell, or about Hermione's misgivings. And really, as Ginny had mentioned, Harry hadn't done anything colossally stupid in a long time. It was overdue.

Draco's grip tightened and a tortured-sounding moan issued from his throat. Harry bit his lip, knowing the pain must have been horrific to penetrate the veil of unconsciousness. Or perhaps it was able to invade Draco's dreams.

Narcissa returned with an ornate silver box. She placed it upon the bed.

"I hope that you are not opposed to jewellery, Mr Potter."

Harry shook his head, even though most of the magic he had encountered that involved jewellery was less than reassuring. He tried not to think of Slytherin's locket or the ring that had withered Dumbledore's hand, Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem, or the necklace that had nearly killed Katie Bell.

Narcissa opened the box to reveal two slender bands of pale metal. She lifted one out and handed it to him. "Please put this on. It does not matter which arm, so choose whichever is most comfortable for you."

Harry pulled away from Draco's grip and held the bracelet up to examine it. The smooth metal was unadorned, a plain band with no visible breaks. He was right-handed, so he figured on his left it would have less chance of banging into things.

He slipped it over his hand and it fit with only a tiny bit of squeezing. It was loose upon his wrist.

"They are goblin-forged platinum. Do not worry about the size--they will adjust themselves when the spell is cast." She leaned over and placed the twin upon Draco's left wrist.

"What is its purpose?" Harry asked.

"They will link to one another and provide the bond that will one day enable Draco to regain his magic. If one or the other is removed, the bond will be broken, and Draco will die." She looked at him and gave him a crooked smile. "Needless to say, they will not be easily removed."

Harry nodded soberly.

She lifted her wand and then stopped with a gasp. "Circe! I nearly forgot! We don't even know if your magic will be compatible with Draco's."

"Oh that. It will be," Harry assured her.

"How do you know?"

"I've been in St Mungo's a fair few times." Harry grinned. "They used to do a magical compatibility test in the event some of the healing spells or potions were dangerous to magical essences. They discovered that I have some sort of universal compatibility."

She nodded, looking relieved. "It is rare, but it does exist. Thank you."

Harry shrugged, as he hadn't exactly contributed to the conditions of his birth.

"Then we shall begin." Her wand rose again and Harry braced himself. " _ Reveleo animus substanitum _ ."

To Harry's surprise, he felt nothing, but he began to glow. A nimbus of red light surrounded him, shot with swirling ribbons of gold. For a moment, he thought that he had caught fire.

"Your aura," Narcissa commented, "is not surprising. The red represents power, courage, resilience, and the need to protect."

"And the gold?"

"Inspiration and intuition, primarily. Sometimes spiritual awakening."

Harry looked at Draco, who was surrounded by a violet glow that flickered with blue. Harry almost smiled, realising he had expected to see green and silver. "And Draco's?"

She smiled. "Intuitive, passionate, and vain."

Harry grinned.

"Blue of this shade generally denotes isolation and loneliness."

Harry's smile faded. "Do auras change?"

"Frequently, as do moods. With this spell, it is easier to attune the magical essences if we have some idea of where to bind them. You and Draco both have a strong sense of intuition and reliance upon your instincts. I think we will begin there." She paused and gave him a measuring look. "This is your final chance to turn back, Auror Potter."

"In for a Knut, in for a Galleon," he said and gave her a weak smile. Instinctually, it still felt like the right thing to do, but logically, his mental facilities were screaming at him to flee.

She nodded and began to speak. " _ Necto animus initiatus. Necto animus secondus. Necto animus obduro _ ."

Harry watched, fascinated, as tendrils of his aura seemed to leap out and twine with Draco's, red to blue, twisting and twining together until they formed a violet cord that narrowed and thinned into little more than a whisper of colour. Even after all this time, magic was still magical to him.

" _ Necto platinum. Redimeo, redimeo, redimeo _ ." The fine cord stretched between them and gravitated towards their twin bracelets. Harry felt nothing as the magic wrapped around his bracelet until the silvery gleam was overlaid by a deep violet glow.

" _ Animus adstringo _ ," Narcissa said. She was breathing hard, as though the effort of casting was difficult. It probably was--this was far more complicated than Harry had anticipated. Instead of a single spell, the process was several spells stacked upon one another, building a foundation and creating something meant to last.

" _ Substantium delego _ ," she said loudly and a burst of white light shot from her wand to coruscate around Draco's bracelet. Draco's aura flared with blinding brightness. Harry shielded his eyes for a moment, and then he felt a tingle around the bracelet he wore. It swelled and grew, turning into a heavy sensation that dragged his hand down to rest upon the bed.

"Harry Potter," she said in a loud, clear voice. "Do you swear to take Draco's magical essence, to hold and protect it from all harm, until such time as he may recover it?"

"I so swear," Harry replied, feeling that formal language was required.

" _ Delego custos _ ," she whispered.

Harry cried out when a near-electrical charge jolted him. The thread between the bracelets turned pure white and sparked like a live wire. Harry forgot to breathe as his aura began to thicken and enlarge. The air grew heavy and he felt like he was inhaling more than oxygen. Magical power flowed around and into him, soaking into his lungs and eyes and very pores. He shut his eyes and struggled to remember to draw in air and let it out. The process did not quite hurt, but it was not pleasant, either.

" _ Defendo substancium incolumitia _ ," Narcissa's voice was hoarse. " _ Defendo fidelius _ ! Repeat it!"

" _ Defendo fidelius _ ," Harry said, forcing the words through clenched teeth. Energy crackled around him; he thought he could level the walls of the Manor without half-trying. Even as the idea occurred to him, the bed shook and he heard glass shatter.

"Hold onto it!" Narcissa cried.

Harry fought to rein it in--wild magic fought to burst out of control and he used all of his Auror training to centre and calm himself.  _ Ocean water _ , he thought desperately,  _ waves gently lapping the shore, sunlight sparkling _ . The shaking subsided. Pressure around his wrist tightened to the point of pain and he dimly wondered if the bracelet had bound itself to his very skin.

He opened his eyes to look and saw nothing but white. The whiteness grew to envelop all of his senses, until he could no longer hear and felt only a burning pain centred in his left wrist. Had the spell gone wrong?

It was his last thought before everything went black.

oooOOOooo

_ Monday, 25th July, 2005 _

Harry opened his eyes. He thought he might be blind for a moment until small details in the darkness revealed that he was looking at fabric rather than nothingness. He turned his head and winced at the ache in his neck. Still alive, then.

He blinked away a haze and focussed. Draco Malfoy lay less than a foot away, unmoving. Harry's gaze drifted down and he felt some relief when he saw Draco's chest rise and fall with measured breaths.

Harry turned his head the other direction and saw Hermione, who leapt up from the chair in which she'd been sitting. "Harry! You're awake!" She leaned down and gripped his hand, and then placed her palm on his forehead. "How do you feel?"

"Um. Thirsty," he croaked. He felt many other things, as well, but thirst was primary, followed by a wicked headache that pulsed in both temples.

"Can you sit up?"

He tried and found that he could after forcing his stiff muscles to move. "How long… have I been out?"

She sat on the bed and placed the tip of her wand on his lower lip. He opened his mouth and nearly wept with pleasure as cool water gushed forth. He swallowed several times and then waved her away before collapsing back upon the pillows. He was still in Draco's bed. Curious.

"Several hours. Narcissa became worried when you collapsed and summoned Ron. Of course, Ron told me, and I spoke to Kingsley, who notified Head Auror Gottfried. Kingsley is here with Ron. They went to have some lunch downstairs."

Harry groaned. He knew he was in for more than one lecture. "Did the spell work?"

"We won't know for certain until Draco awakens, but from all the diagnostic tests performed, it has. Draco has no detectable magical signature." She paused. "Now, aside from thirst, how do you feel?"

He knew what she really meant. "My wand?"

She leaned over and picked it up from the bedside table. He took it from her and appreciated the warm comfort of it. "Lumos," he said and then gasped when the resulting light became near-blinding.

"Goodness!" Hermione cried and shielded her eyes.

"Sorry," he said quickly and dimmed it to more bearable levels of brightness. "Wow."

"You were already powerful. I'm not sure this was a good idea. Does it feel any different? Casting spells, I mean?"

He shook his head. "No. I feel perfectly normal, other than this terrible headache." And a strange, cold sort of pain in his left wrist, he realised. He lifted his arm to give it a massage but twitched when he felt warm metal. He glanced at the platinum band, now snug against his wrist. It gleamed with its natural pale colour; any magical glow was gone.

"Is there anything odd about the bracelet?" she asked.

"Sort of. It's cold."

She nodded and then her face took on the obstinate expression he knew far too well. He held up a hand to stop the forthcoming chastisement. "Can you not? I already know what you'll say, and I agree with most of it. If you insist upon shouting at me, I prefer to wait until Kingsley has had his turn. I'm sure he's ready to give me a right reaming."

She made a scoffing sound. "Actually, he's pleased with the situation."

" _ Pleased _ ?"

The door opened and Ron ambled into the room. He was eating something, and spoke through a mouthful. "'ermione, you gotta try these pasties. Mmmph… so good." He stopped when he saw Harry and swallowed. "Harry!"

Kingsley Shacklebolt strode in after him, along with Narcissa. They were talking quietly but stopped at Ron's outburst. Ron launched himself forwards. "Harry! Are you all right? You're crupshit crazy, you know? I knew you'd be fine, of course. Are you half-Malfoy now? Say something."

"Shut it, Weasley," Harry said in a passable imitation of Draco's Hogwarts' voice, topping it off with a disgusted sneer. Ron recoiled, mouth gaping open with visible horror, and Harry burst out laughing. "Oh Merlin, you should see your face!"

"That wasn't very nice, Harry," Hermione said.

"Not funny at all, mate. Scared me out of six years, that did."

"Are you well, Mr Potter?" Narcissa asked with obvious concern.

"I think so. I feel all right, for the most part. Do you know how long before Draco will wake up?"

"Soon, although that is more hope than conjecture."

"It is good to see that you are none the worse for wear, Harry. Now, if everyone will excuse us for a few minutes, I would like to talk to my Auror. Alone." Despite Hermione's earlier words, Kingsley sounded anything but pleased. Harry felt a stirring of trepidation. The Minister had every right to terminate Harry's position.

Ron gave Harry a commiserating look and Hermione squeezed his hand once before they retreated to the door. Narcissa gave him a smile that seemed encouraging, and then they were gone, leaving him alone with a comatose Draco Malfoy and the Minister for Magic. Harry smiled weakly at Kingsley, who sat on the corner of the bed and sighed.

"Harry. I had hoped your days of seeking out trouble were behind you."

"It's usually the other way round," Harry corrected dryly.

"Nevertheless, your habit of confronting it head-on has not changed at all."

"That's what makes me such a good Auror?"

Kingsley chuckled. "Indeed, although I am not certain that will be an option now that you have attached yourself to some baggage." He indicated Draco.

"Um, yes. About that…"

"You were planning to tell me all about it, but one thing led to another and you felt you had no choice but to submit to the spell."

"Well, yes. Draco seemed to be--"

"And you did so without any thought as to how it would affect your job, and without proper research into the spell itself, and you based your decision solely on the word of former supporters of the Dark Lord."

Harry frowned. Put that way, it sounded pretty irresponsible. "But…"

Kingsley held up a hand. "However, your remarkable luck also seems to be holding. I believe the spell has done nothing more than what it was intended to do. With that said, of course, you have now acquired quite a problem. You can hardly work in the field whilst physically tied to someone with no magical ability."

"I know. I did give that some thought. I do enjoy fieldwork and I will hate to put it on hiatus, but I was also thinking that we have that whole room full of cold case files that no one has looked at in ages…"

Kingsley raised a brow. "You want to work cold cases?"

Harry nodded. "I think it would be a good idea to at least look at them with fresh eyes. And Head Auror Gottfried always told me I was great in the field and shite at paperwork. Maybe this could help me get better? And Draco was planning to work in Games and Sports with Blaise whilst writing his book. This shouldn't affect his plans at all."

Kingsley smiled. "I was wrong. You have thought this through, at least on a rudimentary level. And I believe we can use this situation to our advantage."

"Advantage?"

"You know that anti-Death Eater sentiment has never abated, even with the war long-done. Vengeance crimes are just as common now as they were three months after the death of You-Know-Who."

"And you think this will help… how?"

"Because of you. If Harry Potter is willing to take on the burden of a former Death Eater Squib after everything you've been through, then it makes their hatred seem rather shallow, doesn't it? The wizarding world can learn a thing or two from your shining example."

Harry recoiled, not at all pleased at the thought of being used--again--as a political tool. At least working with the Aurors had kept him (mostly) out of the eye of the press for the past half-decade.

"Kingsley--"

"I'll send a press release out tomorrow." Kingsley smiled broadly. "Or as soon as Mr Malfoy wakes up. It's probably best to make certain he'll survive first."

"You know I hate being used as some sort of propaganda poster."

"Harry, whether you like it or not, everything you do carries influence. The type of breakfast cereal you prefer is more intriguing to the average citizen than any of the policies talked about in the Wizengamot. This is going to hit the papers like a whirlwind. You can either hide from the storm or embrace and use it."

Harry sighed heavily. "I'll hide and you can use it."

Kingsley's loud laugh boomed forth. "You've got a deal."


	11. CHAPTER TEN - Squib

_**I am going away with him to an unknown country where I shall have no past and no name, and where I shall be born again with a new face and an untried heart.** _

_**~Sidonie Gabrielle Colette** _

_ Tuesday, 26th July, 2005 _

Draco crawled back to consciousness in a fashion similar to swimming through treacle. He could not remember a time when sleep had clung so desperately, striving to hold on. He shook it off with determination, sensing that he had been out long enough. His body demanded wakefulness, even if his mind was in disagreement.

With effort, he opened his eyes. He already knew he was in his own bed; the pillows were comfortingly familiar, as were the blankets wrapped around him. There was a different scent, however, that had tantalised him just before waking. Familiar, and yet not.

The mystery was solved the moment his eyes fixed upon his bed mate. His presence, however, invited a dozen more questions, as did the fact that Draco's hand was draped across Potter's abdomen, as though it belonged there.

Draco lifted his hand carefully, so as not to awaken Potter. As he did so, he noticed his arm felt both heavy and strangely cold. His eyes fixed on the bracelet he wore and suspicion crashed into him with horrific intensity.

_ Oh no. Oh Salazar, she didn't _ . 

Panic threatened to choke him and he flung himself from the bed, kicking the blankets aside and gaining his feet with effort. Blackness swam across his vision, inducing nausea. He fell to his knees and bowed his head, willing it to pass. He refused to be sick upon his favourite carpet. He focussed upon that thought and blocked out everything else, until the urge to vomit passed and the darkness that threatened to drag him down faded.

"I can do this," he muttered and got to his feet. He took a steadying breath and looked for his wand, but it was nowhere to be found. Potter's, however, rested upon the bedside table. Draco rounded the bed and picked it up.

"I don't think that will work," Potter said in a quiet voice and Draco looked at him. Their eyes met and held and then Draco set his jaw.

" _ Accio _ dressing gown," he said. The dressing gown draped over the back of a chair on the other side of the room, did not even twitch. " _ Accio! Accio, Accio, Accio _ !" Draco cried.

"Draco, stop," Potter said as he sat up and placed a restraining hand on Draco's arm.

Draco, near to tears, shook him off, but when Potter took the wand and removed it from his grip, he did not resist. "Why?" he demanded. "Why  _ you _ ?" He fought for breath and thought a full-blown panic attack might be imminent.

"I don't know," Potter replied. "Maybe she thought I would take more care."

"How would you take more care than Blaise?" Draco demanded. "You don't even like me!"

Potter's eyes looked strange without his glasses. He was also more rumpled than usual, obviously having fallen asleep in his jeans and wrinkled t-shirt. "That's not true. I like you just fine." Draco glared at him and Potter added, "Besides, it's not about like or dislike, it's about keeping you alive." He picked up his glasses from the table and put them on, instantly looking more like himself.

Draco took a deep breath, and then another, and tried not to think about the fact that he no longer had magic. And that he was now bound to Harry Potter. Frankly, the second was more panic-inducing than the first. He had grown accustomed to the notion that he would have to live like a Squib--although the reality was literally horrifying--but he had not had time to wrap his mind around Potter's offer. It had been ludicrous. And now it was irrefutable.

He strove for calm and forced himself to speak in a rational tone. "So what now?" He wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly cold and wanting nothing more than to climb back beneath the warm blankets and sleep forever. That, however, was not an option as long as Potter was in it. He glanced instead at his dressing gown and debated walking across the room to fetch it.

"Well, first, the healers will want to check you out and make sure you are not suffering any adverse effects. How do you feel?"

"I feel like a Squib," Draco snapped and felt tears threaten as he spoke the words aloud. He took several more deep, calming breaths and tried to take a physical assessment. Beyond the reality of his flippant response, he realized he felt better than he had in a very long time. There was no sporadic pain, no deep, throbbing discomfort centred in his Dark Mark, and no headache. He looked at his arm to find the Dark Mark still there, but now it seemed nothing more than an ugly tattoo. The bracelet, however, was cold and somewhat uncomfortable. "What healers?" he asked in a dull tone.

"Healer Hildebrand, I suppose."

"I hate that woman."

"What is it with you Slytherins? She seems very competent. And nice."

Draco snorted. "Her tits are nice. The rest of her is bloodthirsty and calculating."

"Like Parkinson?" Potter said dryly.

Draco turned on him and attempted a stern glare, but damn if Potter wasn't right. Maybe Draco only disliked her because Pansy did, and Pansy hated her because she saw her as competition. Still, Hildebrand had poked and prodded Draco with enough passionate disinterest that he was convinced she saw him as little more than a walking specimen.

Draco frowned and then made another realisation. "Are you hungry?"

"Famished. You?"

"I could eat a thestral. Timerus!" Draco thrust out an annoyed lip when no house-elf appeared. "Timerus! Viney!" Again, there was no response. "What the bloody hell is wrong with them?" He blanched when an idea occurred to him with a sinking feeling. "You try," he said to Potter.

"What?"

"Try calling a house-elf. Call for Viney. Or Timerus."

Potter looked dubious, but he cleared his throat and then called, "Timerus!"

The house-elf popped up next to the bed. "Yes, Master…" His voice trailed off and his bulbous eyes grew huge as they flicked from Draco to Potter and back. "Mister Harry Potter, sir! Timerus is not knowing why you is wearing Master Draco's magic, but he is advising Mister Harry Potter to be giving it back at once!"

"Never mind," Draco snapped. The house-elf cringed and nearly flattened itself to the floor.

"Forgive Timerus! Timerus meant no harm! Timerus will be punishing himself right away!" He began to bang his head upon the floor.

"There is no time for that," Draco said with a sigh. "Go and fetch us some food." Draco glanced towards the windows, but the curtains were drawn. "Is it past breakfast?"

Timerus stopped slamming his head against the floor. "The time is being twelve minutes past three in the afternoon, Master Draco."

"Excellent. Time for tea. Potter and I will have it here. That will be all."

Timerus gave Draco an odd look, hesitated just long enough to be nearly insubordinate, and then nodded and popped out. Draco suspected the Manor elves would stop obeying him as soon as they figured out that he had no magic.

"We can't stay here," he said, fighting down the return of panic.

"Pardon?" Potter asked. He had apparently been lost in his own thoughts, dreaming about Weasleys, no doubt, or calculating his next good deed.

"We can't stay here, in the Manor. It isn't safe, which is one reason I had meant to live with Blaise in his flat. You moving in here would be an exceptionally bad idea."

"Oh!" Potter said, blinking. "No, I can't live here! It's too far from London. I need to be close to the office… What do you mean it  _ isn't safe _ ?"

"Did you not see that bloody house-elf? It has already begun. Without magic, I am no longer the master of this house. I am little more than a Muggle. I am less than a house-elf. Do you understand?"

Potter opened his mouth as if to share something stupid, as Draco expected, but then he closed it. Potter likely did not understand, but at least he was willing to silence any Granger-like sentiments. Draco knew what house-elves were capable of. He hadn't been exactly nice to any of them during his entire life, so who knew what sort of revenge they would concoct now that he couldn't fight back? Best to get out, and soon. Potter exited the bed and stretched, then walked to the window and looked out. Draco lowered himself into a chair and sighed.

Timerus reappeared with a large tray that he placed on one corner of the bed, after flicking his hand and returning the sheets and blankets to pristine order.

"Thank you, Timerus," Potter said politely and the house-elf bowed to the floor, looking like he might explode from pleasure.

"Test that for poison," Draco said dryly.

Timerus threw him a glare, something he would never have dared to do yesterday. "Timerus would never be poisoning Mister Harry Potter."

"I can still give you clothes," Draco threatened, not missing the fact that the creature had purposely left out Draco's name. The house-elf cringed and popped out.

"Maybe if you'd been nicer to them, you wouldn't need to worry about them seeking revenge," Potter said mildly and sat on the bed again. He leaned forwards to drag the tray closer, and then picked up a meat pie and bit into it.

"Thank you for that brilliant insight, Potter. Allow me to go back in time and make better decisions all around, hmm?"

Potter snorted a laugh and his green eyes danced. "Just eat something," he mumbled through his mouthful of food.

Draco got up and sat on the bed, keeping the tray between them, and picked up an iced cake. The sausage smelled divine, but Draco always started with the sugared items. Potter did not comment. They ate in silence for some time, until the door opened and Draco's mother breezed in.

"Darling!" she cried and hurried forwards to give him an embrace. "It is so good to see you awake. How do you feel?"

Draco forced back the same flippant reply he had given to Potter, knowing it would cut her more deeply. He endured her hug stiffly. “Alive,” he said instead. He was perturbed with her for binding him permanently to Potter.

"Healer Hildebrand will be here soon. Do you need anything?"

"I need that woman to stop prodding at me."

"Now, don't be like that. You might find her personally distasteful, but she is an accomplished healer. And she doesn't seem to care about that," she waved vaguely at Draco's Dark Mark, "which you know is a rarity."

"Yes, yes," Draco said, having heard it before. In earnest, he couldn't say what bothered him about Gertrude Hildebrand, but the fact remained that something about her set him on edge. He supposed it was irrational.

"Why is she personally distasteful?" Potter asked. Draco closed his mouth on a snappish retort; he expected he would need to become accustomed to Potter asking foolish questions.

"She is a research fanatic," his mother explained. "It makes her less than warm, shall we say, towards her patients."

Draco laughed. "That is a kindly way to put it. She's a bloody cold fish and would be more than happy to see me locked up in a laboratory and experimented upon."

"Draco, she is not that terrible," his mother protested.

"She seemed nice when I met her," Potter put forth. Draco glared at them both.

"Healer Hildebrand and Apprentice Healer Barnes are being in the foyer," a house-elf announced.

"Thank you, Viney. Send them up, please."

Draco groaned. "Lovely. She's brought her evil watchdog."

His mother threw him a quelling look, but he could see the worry beneath her stare, so he vowed to shut up and let the bint poke at him if it would set his mother's mind at ease. He stuffed a sausage into his mouth and chewed to avoid speaking.

Hildebrand and her underling strode in shortly. The contrast between the hugely tall blonde and her diminutive assistant was jarring.

"Draco, how nice to see you awake. Hello again, Auror Potter." Hildebrand had a decent voice, Draco supposed as he tried to be charitable. It was deep and soothing.

"Harry, please."

"Harry. And don't forget to call me Tru. None of that Healer Hildebrand nonsense. How are you feeling?" Her attention was on Potter, even as she cast an absent diagnostic spell on Draco.

"Um. Good," Potter replied, although he rubbed his banded wrist. Draco wondered if his bracelet also felt cold and tingly.

"Excellent. I would like to examine you next, however, if that is acceptable," Hildebrand said. Potter nodded his consent and she finally turned her attention to Draco. She cast several diagnostic spells (Draco's heart rate was normal, his eyesight was fine, his hearing was exceptional, and everything else seemed perfectly ordinary), and then asked, "Have you attempted magic?"

The entire time, Abigail Barnes was scribbling away on her ever-present clipboard. She glanced up at the last and seemed morbidly fascinated.

"I tried an  _ Accio _ ," Draco said flatly.

"And…nothing?" Hildebrand asked. Her voice was soft and to anyone else, it might have sounded sympathetic. To Draco, it just sounded false.

"Of course nothing. My magic is gone. Your attempt to find some sort of cure has failed and I was forced to resort to this. So I would appreciate it if you could finish this up quickly so that I may attempt to salvage what is left of my life."

"Your choice was made long before I became involved, Draco," Hildebrand said and Draco's fists clenched. Despite his mother's insistence that Hildebrand cared nothing about his Dark Mark, she often made allusions to his past decisions, out of earshot of his mother, of course. Fucking holier-than-thou healers. Draco despised them all.

"You seem to be physically healthy," Hildebrand continued. "The debilitating effects of whatever ailed you appear to have been completely nullified by the removal of your magic. I am impressed with your mother's research. In this case, it seems to have paid off. I will need a vial of your blood so that I can run some tests, of course. If the curse is driven by a virus, we will need to monitor its progression--or lack thereof." She moved away from Draco to stand before Potter. "At the moment I am more concerned, however, about you. Such a transfer has never been done before, at least not to this extent, according to the materials I have read."

Draco kept silent but rolled his eyes. Fat lot of research she had done, then. His mother had finally located the answer in the Americas, of all places. Unorthodox, but effective. Several of the native cultures there were apparently old hat at magical and spiritual transfers. They could probably have taught the Dark Lord a thing or two if he hadn't been so fixated on Potter.

Hildebrand reached out and grasped Potter's jaw. "Open, please," she requested. To Draco's astonishment, Potter blushed as he complied. The blush deepened as Hildebrand cast several diagnostic spells, all accompanied by far too much touching, in Draco's opinion. Potter's reaction was curious, however. Draco gnawed the inside of his cheek to keep from making snide comments.

Hildebrand asked Potter to cast several spells, all of which he performed easily with no abnormal consequences. He seemed just as Potterish as usual.

"Very well," Hildebrand said finally. "Apparently we have done all we can here. You both seem none the worse for wear. If either of you experience anything out of the ordinary, be certain to summon me at once, is that clear?"

Potter nodded and Draco shrugged.

"Very well, then. Good afternoon, Draco. Harry." Hildebrand smiled at Potter, collected her bookish shadow, and departed.

Draco turned a sly gaze on Potter. "I suddenly understand your defence of that woman."

"What do you mean?"

"You think she's attractive." Draco shook his head in mock disappointment. "Whatever will Ginevra say when she discovers your little crush?"

Potter sputtered, but he turned three shades of red and could not seem to dredge up a denial. "She's… she's very tall."

"Very tall. Yes, it puts those tits at a disturbing eye level, doesn't it?"

"I didn't notice that!" Potter protested.

Draco stared incredulously. One would have to be blind or unrepentantly gay not to have noticed those melons. And Potter, damn it all, was unfortunately straight, the bloody liar.

"Fine," Potter said and crossed his arms. "She is a bit attractive, all right?"

"I knew it!" Draco replied smugly.

"Can we go to my flat now?" Potter asked loudly in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

Draco nodded. "Certainly. Call an elf and have it fetch my mother."

Potter did so and his mother spent far too long helping Draco to pack a trunk. He certainly did not plan on moving all of his things to Potter's; only the necessities.

"Where is my wand?" Draco asked when his trunk was nearly full.

His mother sent a near-panicked look towards him. "Safely put away."

"I want it."

"But, Draco, I think it should--"

"I want it," he said in the spoiled-child tone that had got him nearly everything he'd desired from the time he could speak.

She sighed and shook her head. "Fine. I will be right back."

Draco took one more shirt from the wardrobe and tossed it towards the trunk. Potter smiled and folded it with a flick of his wand.

"What is it?" Potter asked.

"What is what?"

"Your wand. What is it made of?"

Ah. Potter had never returned Draco's hawthorn wand after the war. Draco had sometimes wondered why. Had Potter placed it in a glass case to admire as a trophy? Had he snapped it in two and tossed the pieces into a rubbish bin? Draco hadn't bothered to ask; he had simply bought another.

"Beech," Draco said. It had taken him a long time to acclimate to the pale wood, so different from his hawthorn, but after wrapping the hilt in green cord and practicing for long hours, he had grown to like it more than his original. It seemed to respond gleefully to every difficult spell, and the more complicated the better. He sighed and tried not to think about it. He wondered if the wand would un-attach from him now that his magic was gone. It was depressing.

Draco's mother reappeared and handed him his wand. Draco tossed it into the trunk, as though it meant nothing, and shut the lid.

"Well, then," he said brightly, "off to Potter's we go."

His mother was not fooled in the slightest, of course. She nearly crushed him with a hard embrace. "You will be fine, Draco," she said in a fierce whisper.

Draco blinked back tears, all too aware of Potter standing only a few feet away. "I know," he replied. It was odd, because he had spent the past two weeks living with Blaise, but this felt so much more permanent. The weight of it threatened to crush him. "I'll be back soon."

"You will be back for tea on Saturday, or else," she said and included Potter in her steely glare.

Potter grinned and tugged at his hair. "Saturday," he agreed.

oooOOOooo

Potter grasped Draco's arm lightly and then they Disapparated. They made several short hops, most likely to keep from taxing Draco rather than Potter, and Draco reflected wryly that he was now entirely dependent upon Potter for transportation. Any attempt to Floo alone would result in a painful end for Draco once he moved beyond a safe distance from Potter. It was possible to Side-along via the Floo Network, which was how he’d gone from flat to club with Blaise while pretending to have no magic, but he would possibly be burned if he tried it alone.

They appeared in a mostly-white flat that surprised Draco with its non-Gryffindor simplicity. One enormous wall of windows looked out upon a water-filled canal lined with trees and the London skyline beyond.

"This is the living room," Potter said and gestured vaguely, even though it was obvious by the white sofa, tea table, and small desk against one wall. An enormous bookshelf covered the opposite wall and extended into the dining area, which held an oblong white table and four spindly-looking chairs. Beyond that stood two archways - one led to the kitchen and the other to a small hallway and the front door.

Potter wandered towards the kitchen and Draco followed. The kitchen seemed more Potterish with red accent walls, although the silvered countertops and appliances were a surprise. Everything gleamed, and there were several appliances Draco did not recognise.

"This is a Muggle building," Potter explained, "so I don't use magic much. I can show you how to use the cooker and the toaster and things. This is the fridge, although there isn't much in it at the moment. We'll need to go shopping for food."

Another archway led into the hallway, where a door stood next to a flight of stairs. "The loo," Potter said, waving at the door, and then he took the stairs. Draco followed and the steps ended in another short hallway. A doorway to the right led to a small loft room that was open to the living room below. It had an amazing view of the outdoors through the upper section of windows and a small white desk faced in that direction.

A sofa, squat trunk, and short bookshelf were the only other furnishings in the loft, besides a comfortable-looking leather chair that stood before the desk.

"This is sort of the guest bedroom," Potter said, "as the sofa folds down into a bed. Dean crashes here once in a while when he goes on a bender in town. And Ron sleeps here when he's fighting with Hermione. You can have this room or the master bedroom. I don't mind which."

Back in the hallway, a pocket door stood open to reveal a full bath with earth-toned tiles. It was very clean and orderly. Draco had half-expected towels on the floor and toiletries in the sink, but Potter was apparently quite organised and clean, forcing Draco to rewrite his expectations.

The final room on the tour was the master bedroom, nearly empty but for a large pedestal bed and wardrobe cabinet. A long, chin-high window looked out upon the sky and let plenty of light into the room. Draco decided Potter must have something against curtains because he hadn't seen one in the entire flat.

"I'll take the loft," Draco said. "This room is a bit too… Gryffindor."

The walls were white, like the rest of the flat, but the bedspread was a deep, solid red. The pillows were covered in white, which fit the rest of Potter's utilitarian décor. He was apparently not one for patterns of any sort.

"I think we'll be okay as far as distance," Potter said. "It should be pretty easy for us to maintain the thirty-foot thing, even if one of us is here and the other is out on the balcony. I suppose we can test it. Stay here."

Potter turned and thumped back down the stairs. After a moment, Draco felt a twinge in his wrist and heard a door slide open. The cold in his wrist deepened and turned into actual pain, which sent a burst of panic zinging towards Draco's heart. He quickly moved towards the door and then crossed the hall to enter the loft. He peered over the edge of the glass-filled railing.

Potter stood before the open door that led to a short balcony, which was little more than a walkway large enough to hold a couple of folding chairs. He looked up at Draco and nodded. "Okay, so we don't come out here when one of us is in the bedroom. It's a bit too far," he said and rubbed his wrist.

Draco felt little need to spend time on the balcony, particularly when the weather was currently too warm and humid to be outside, having taken an abrupt turn from the cool days previous. Downstairs on the wall opposite the sofa, a huge fireplace took up nearly the whole wall. A tiny fire burned there, most likely kept ready for a Floo call to the Ministry or surprise visits from Potter's friends.

Draco looked at the sofa bed and wrinkled his nose. If Weasley had slept there, it would need to be disinfected. He cringed when he realised he would not even be able to cast the simplest of Cleaning Charms.

Potter reappeared next to him and took Draco's shrunken trunk from a pocket. He enlarged it back to full size with a tap of his wand and shoved it against the wall.

"There," Potter said. "I'll be downstairs while you settle in. I'm not hungry yet, but I should probably sort out something for us to eat later. Um… welcome." He gave Draco a tentative smile, dragged a hand through his messy black hair, and disappeared back down the stairs.

Draco sank down on the leather chair and looked dismally at his new home. Here he was, for better or worse. It was, he admitted to himself, far better than Blaise's cluttered flat. As a bright side, however, it was still pretty dark.


	12. CHAPTER TWELVE - Settling in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: discussion of suicide

_**A single event can awaken within us a stranger totally unknown to us. To live is to be slowly born.** _

_**~Antoine de Saint-Exupery** _

Harry opened the pantry cupboard and peered into it with a frown. Bloody hell, he hadn't had time to prepare for Draco's arrival at all. Harry was an utter failure when it came to visitors--there was little food in the house and barely enough tea to last three days. There were crumpets, of course, and enough jam to sustain them both through a nuclear winter, but he doubted Draco would be satisfied with a steady diet of bread and marmalade. Most nights Harry skipped dinner, ordered takeaway, or popped into the Leaky for a meal on his way home.

There were a few potatoes that were just beginning to wrinkle, a couple of apples, twelve pounds of onions that Molly had bestowed upon him on his last trip to the Burrow, and a head of cabbage that he did not remember purchasing. He pulled them all out and set them on the countertop. He also had half a pound of bacon, so together it should make enough soup to fortify them through the evening. They could shop tomorrow, as Harry had been forced by Kingsley to take the week off.

After chopping veg and making a roux for the soup, Harry realised he hadn't seen Draco, so he ventured upstairs to find him sprawled on the loft sofa-bed, fully clothed but sound asleep. Draco had removed his shoes, so Harry supposed he wouldn't be too uncomfortable. He fetched a blanket from the linen cupboard and draped it over Draco's still form. As he did so, he had the strange urge to smooth the hair away from Draco's brow, but he resisted and went back downstairs.

Draco slept until nearly ten o'clock, used the toilet, accepted a bowl of soup from Harry that he ate without comment, and then returned to his room where he retired for the night.

All in all, Harry thought, it was a rather anticlimactic start to their new living arrangement.

_ Wednesday, 27th July, 2005 _

Draco was tired. He had slept the morning away, and yet every time he awakened he just wanted to curl up and sink back into oblivion. Potter, of course, had other ideas. He stood in the doorway wearing jeans and a faded, oversized grey t-shirt, and tugged a hand through his hair as he fumbled through an attempt to dredge up some words.

"Hi," he said finally. "I made breakfast. Even though it's nearly noon. Um. Do you want to go to Diagon Alley today? We need food; the pantry is close to empty."

The thought of going out in public made Draco's stomach clench. "Do they not deliver?"

"Oh. I didn't think of that. I suppose they do."

"Of course they do. Owl them for a list." Draco had seen his mother order supplies a thousand times. "Check off what you need, they will bill your account, and the items appear in your kitchen. As if by magic."

Potter coughed. "Yes. Um. I don't have an owl."

Draco groaned. He rolled over and tried to shut out the sight of Potter and his sodding mussed hair. "Floo my mother and have her send Xenophon here."

"Xenophon?"

"My owl, Potter. Now, will you go away now and let me sleep?"

There was such a long pause that Draco thought Potter had obeyed, but then he heard a soft, "You've been sleeping an awful lot."

_ What else is there to do? _ Draco thought despondently, but he said nothing and feigned slumber. After a few minutes, he heard Potter downstairs, talking to his mother through the fireplace. Draco drifted off again.

_ Friday, 29th July, 2005 _

Harry was bored. Draco had done little but sleep for the past forty-eight hours. Twice he had risen, showered, trekked downstairs for a meal that he'd eaten listlessly whilst answering Harry's questions in monosyllables, and then he'd returned to his room. He had once taken a book from Harry's shelf, but Harry had never caught the sound of turning pages. Mostly he'd heard an occasional creak of the sofa-bed as Draco turned in his sleep.

It was worrying. And incredibly boring. After seventy-two hours in his own flat, Harry realised how little time he usually spent at home. There wasn't much to do. He put away his clean clothes (he sent them out for cleaning once a week by dropping them into a magical hamper provided by Liam's Laundry Service), scrubbed both bathrooms, reorganized his books by author name, baked eight types of biscotti (after the grocery had delivered per Draco's suggestion), put together a quarter of a Muggle puzzle Hermione had given him three years ago, and read every case file he had brought home from work (three times).

Blaise and Pansy had provided a momentary distraction the previous night when they had Flooed in without warning. Pansy had demanded to see Draco, having found out about his arrangement with Harry through Blaise "second-hand from the Weaselette!" and only after Harry had allowed her upstairs to view Draco's sleeping form for herself had she allowed Blaise to escort her out. She would be back, Harry knew, and almost welcomed the visit in order to break the monotony.

He had pulled out every spice and seasoning in the kitchen and displayed them on the counter for alphabetical sorting when he decided he had had enough. He left the jars where they were and headed upstairs.

He stomped loudly into Draco's room and halted. Draco hadn't stirred at his intrusion and Harry was at a loss; should he wake him up? It could not possibly be healthy to sleep as much as Draco had been. Perhaps it would be wiser to contact Healer Hildebrand.

Harry sat on the edge of Draco's bed and touched the backs of his fingers to Draco's forehead, checking for a fever. There was none that Harry could tell, not that he was an expert on judging fever via barely-there touching. A lock of hair brushed Harry's finger and he gave in to the urge to stroke it, combing a wisp away from Draco's eyes and nudging it back towards his ear. His hair was whisper soft.

"Wha…? Potter?"

Harry jerked his fingers away with a guilty start. "Hey," he said. "Lunch was hours ago. You still haven't eaten."

Draco said nothing for such a long time that Harry was sure he had fallen asleep again. He debated whether or not to leave or give him a rude shake, but then Draco said, "Not hungry."

Harry bit back a sharp retort. Draco had consumed one cold piece of toast and a short glass of juice just after dawn and had not left his bed once after returning there.

"You need to eat," Harry insisted.

"I'll eat later." Draco rolled away and pulled his pillow closer. His mother had sent over the bedding and the formerly white bed was now frosted with a sea of multi-shaded green.

"I'm worried about you."

"You're not my mother."

Harry dragged a frustrated hand through his hair. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't force Draco out of bed. He supposed he could spell the blankets off and upend the bed with a few spells. It might even lead to a spectacular row (which would be better than the ghostlike near-silence that Draco had lately displayed), but with Draco unable to fight back it would feel like bullying the defenceless. Defeated, he was about to get to his feet when Draco spoke again.

"How do Muggles kill themselves?"

" _ What _ ?"

Draco's voice was muffled. He wasn't looking at Harry. "When a wizard wants to end it, he just pulls out his wand and casts  _ Avada Kedavra _ and it's done. What do Muggles do?"

"Why are you thinking about that?"

"Morbid curiosity."

Harry was silent as he considered the veracity of Draco's words. Morbid curiosity was to be expected in Draco's position, but when combined with his lethargy and lack of interest in life, it was worrying. Harry could not decide whether or not it would be a bad idea to answer the question, but at least Draco was talking. It was more than he had done in a long while. "Different ways, I guess. A common one is to take an excess of medicinal tablets. Or poison."

Draco made a huffing sound. "Poison can be painful and take a long time to work."

"Yeah, I think the tablets sort of… put them to sleep. Permanently."

"Where do Muggles get them?"

"From their geriatric relatives, mostly. The really strong ones can't be purchased from the local druggist. They have to be prescribed by Muggle healers."

"Are there other ways?"

"Um, firearms? Or hanging."

"Hanging?" Draco rolled over and lifted a hand to his throat. His eyes were wide. "By the neck?"

Potter nodded. "Slow choking. Quite unpleasant, I would imagine."

"And firearms are those explosive devices. The ones that shoot projectiles."

"Yes. They shoot bullets."

"So they  _ shoot  _ themselves? Despite knowing that the bullets will explode their flesh?" Draco wrinkled his nose, looking horrified.

"The ones who really want to die tend to use that method, yeah. Or they jump from a high bridge or a tall building."

Draco shuddered and glanced towards the glass doors.

"We're only two storeys up," Potter said quietly. "You likely wouldn't die, only hurt yourself quite spectacularly."

The solemn look on Draco's face was not reassuring. "I wasn't thinking about it for me, Potter. If I wanted to die, I would simply walk out the front door."

Harry swallowed and looked away. His fingers plucked at the fabric of the comforter. "Don't," he said after a moment.

"Don't what?"

"Don't walk out the front door. Promise me you won't. If you're feeling… despondent or whatnot, promise you'll talk to me first."

"I'm not suicidal, Potter."

"Then you won't mind promising." Harry glared at him, somewhat surprised by the intensity of his own words.

Draco opened his mouth and then closed it again. He looked away and then settled onto the pillow once more and tugged the blanket closer. "I promise," he whispered.

Harry studied him for a moment or two before nodding. "Good."

"Now go away and let me rest."

Harry sighed, got to his feet, and trudged back downstairs, uncertain whether he'd won a victory or not.

oooOOOooo

Draco had a hard time falling back to sleep after Potter left. The "I'm worried about you" had left a lingering impression, despite Draco's need to shrug it off as nothing. Of course, Potter was worried. He was stuck in his flat with Draco, who could not summon the energy to do more than use the loo and eat a bite or two of toast.

Even that thought and the accompanying guilt was not enough to push Draco through his ennui enough to get out of bed. He was just on the edge of consciousness when he heard Potter's voice from below.

"…Hildebrand, if she is available. Yes, I'll wait."

Draco opened his eyes and stared at the short bookshelf across the room, struggling to focus through the blurred effects of too much sleep. He strained to listen to the words Potter spoke. "Hello, Healer Barnes. Er, Apprentice Healer." Potter coughed. "Abigail. Yes, I am worried about Draco. He seems really lethargic, excessively so, and I think he might need to be seen… No, it's not an emergency, but his behaviour seems far from normal… Yes, whenever she is available. Believe me, I'll be here."

Draco glared at the books. He was fine. He was just tired, that was all. Tired and bored and utterly without magic. The memory threatened to drag him back down into the black well that had encompassed him in the past few days and he shook it off to focus on Potter. It was likely the prat only wanted to see the blonde Amazonian healer again, considering the way she had been fawning over Potter the last time they had interacted.

Draco sat up, imagining Hildebrand coaxing Potter into allowing a full examination, possibly in his bedroom, the one that was only a few short feet from where Draco lay in a depressed partial-coma. He swung his feet to the floor, annoyed. Draco would take another Dark Mark before he would allow that hack healer to get her claws into Potter, at least not whilst Draco was around. It was not to be borne.

Finding the resolve to exit the comfort of his familiar blankets for the first time in days, Draco levered himself out of bed, fought off a bout of dizziness, and took himself off to the bathroom. A near-scalding shower did wonders to improve his wakefulness (and Potter had a surprising array of shampoo and bathing products--who would have guessed) and he lathered his hair twice with some spicy-scented shampoo that reminded him of Potter.

Potter also had an enormous supply of tooth-cleaning potions, so Draco tipped the contents of a vial into his mouth and swished a bit, enjoying the tingle as the magic worked its way into every crevice of his mouth. He spat and rinsed with a handful of water, only feeling a slight twinge when he remembered his normal method of rinsing with a spurt of fresh water from his wand.

He combed his hair, also regretting his inability to dry and style it, and returned to his room to sort through his trunk. His clothing was wrinkled; he would either have to hit up Potter for a corner of his wardrobe or purchase one for his own use.

Draco selected a pair of black trousers and a sandstone-coloured shirt. He didn't bother with socks or shoes--Potter certainly kept the temperature at a decent comfort level--and padded down the stairs, feeling more alive than he had in days.

Potter was knelt before the fireplace again, and Draco could vaguely make out the features of Gertrude Hildebrand in the flames.

"…and Draco has been--"

"I'm fine, Potter," Draco said loudly. "Did you not mention something about food? I am famished."

Potter started, looked a bit guilty, and turned back to the flames. "Oh, well. Never mind. He's up now. I will, um… keep you informed."

Draco missed whatever Hildebrand replied, but was gratified when Potter got to his feet. "You're awake. And hungry?"

"Did I not just say that? I hope you stocked up on foodstuffs."

"I did. There is leftover soup and I can make you a sandwich. Or would you prefer I cook something? Or there is take-away…"

"I don't care." Draco paused at Potter's concerned look.  _ Pretend an interest _ , he thought. He could feign caring about his stupid new life to prevent Potter calling Hildebrand again. "Whatever is quickest. And perhaps you can show me how to use that cooker thing."

Draco was pleased when Potter goggled at him. "You want to learn…?"

"I am a Squib now, Potter. I need to learn things. I refuse to be utterly reliant upon you, so let's get to it."

"Yeah. Okay." Potter seemed no less confused, but he preceded Draco into the kitchen and showed him where several things resided--pots, utensils, food items, and seasonings (although those were scattered all over the countertop until Potter returned them all to their cabinet with a quick spell).

Draco was unwillingly fascinated with the cooking device. A simple turn of a knob created fire and Potter placed a gleaming pot atop the flames before dumping in the leftover potato soup. He gave it a stir with a wooden spoon.

"Well. Let that heat a bit, making sure to stir it so it won't burn."

"Like a potion."

Potter looked horrified for a moment, but then he nodded. "Yeah, I suppose it is sort of like making a potion. Except without the stink and the horrible ingredients. If you do it right, anyway."

Draco said nothing, he simply gave the pot a stir or two whilst Potter pulled ingredients from the cooling unit and pantry. The soup smelled delicious and Draco's stomach rumbled. He supposed he was hungry, after all.

Potter cut several slices of bread from a crusty loaf and built two sandwiches with roast beef, cheese, several condiments that Draco either accepted or refused, and thin slices of sweet onion. By the time they sat at the table with bowls of soup, the sandwiches, and mugs of strong tea, Draco was nearly salivating.

"Were you waiting for me in order to eat?" Draco asked as he took sedate bites of the sandwich, restraining himself from eating like a hungry hound. The soup was simple but tasted nice.

"Yes. Well, not for much longer. I would have eaten, eventually. It's better with someone to talk to. I have to admit I've been going a bit mental with boredom."

Draco ignored the stab of guilt. "What have you been doing, anyway? Why didn't you call Weasel or Granger to keep you company?" Then again, Potter probably would have called the Weaselette first, and Draco would not have enjoyed that at all. In fact, it seemed strange that she hadn't popped in already. He opened his mouth to ask about that… and then closed it on a bite of sandwich. Potter's sex life was not his concern.

"I've been organising, mostly. And Ron and Hermione are working."

Draco glanced around and then raised a brow. "It seems organised already."

Potter nodded. "I was running out of things to do. That's why I started on the spice rack."

"Not used to spending time alone?" Draco left off the sneer and refrained from commenting on Potter's popularity. He had probably missed several social events being stuck here with Draco.  _ A pity _ , Draco thought with a hint of vindictiveness.

"I guess not. Never realised how much time I spend at Ron and Hermione's, actually. They are probably enjoying the break."

"Or pining," Draco suggested, "since you three haven't been separated since you were eleven years old." He was sure he didn't sound envious at all.

"We were a few times," Potter muttered and took a large bite of sandwich, probably to avoid elaborating. Not for the first time, Draco found himself wondering about Potter and what had happened to him during that fateful year that had led up to the Dark Lord's destruction. There had been rumours, of course. There were always rumours, but few of the tales had ever been confirmed or denied. Draco had never even discovered why Potter's face had been swollen like a puffer fish's during that afternoon at the Manor, the day Draco had lost his wand to Potter.

"Don't you read? You have books."

Potter chuckled. "Once in a while I can sit down and read a book, but they generally put me to sleep, unless they are required reading for work, and then they definitely put me to sleep. But no, most of those," he indicated the bookshelf, "were gifts from Hermione."

"So you gallantly offered to take me into your home for a year, despite the fact that you are rarely in your home. What did you expect us to do? Go out dancing?"

Potter looked more discomfited than usual. "No, of course not," he muttered.

Draco shook his head. Poor, impulsive Potter. He probably hadn't had time to think it through before Draco's mother had pounced on him with tales of gloom and Draco's imminent death in order to goad him to action.

When they had finished eating, Potter returned all the dishes to the kitchen and spent some time cleaning up whilst Draco perused his books. There was an enormous variety, everything from children's fairy tales to dry historical tomes. A large number of books had colourful paper covers and when Draco pulled one out to look at it more closely, he saw that the cover art did not move. He wrinkled his nose. Muggle books, then. Odious.

He put it back quickly lest Potter catch him touching something Muggle-made. Then he frowned, realising he was closer to Muggle than wizard right now. He bit his lip, glanced towards the kitchen, and resolutely took the book. The inside cover read:  _ While in Paris on business, Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon receives an urgent late-night phone call: the elderly curator of the Louvre has been murdered inside the museum. Near the body, police have found a baffling cipher. While working to solve the enigmatic riddle, Langdon is stunned to discover it leads to a trail of clues hidden in the works of Da Vinci -- clues visible for all to see -- yet ingeniously disguised by the painter _ .

While some of the terms were unfamiliar (phone, police) there was enough context that Draco could decipher them (Floo-call, Aurors) and he knew who Da Vinci was, of course. There were certain Muggle philosophers, artists, and inventors whose works had leaked naturally into the wizarding world, whether through sheer brilliance or other means. Da Vinci was one of the brilliant ones. Even Draco couldn't disparage some of his art.

He skimmed the first page, to find the apparent intrepid hero waking up in a Paris hotel and refusing to see a very important man. To Draco's annoyance, he found himself wanting to know the identity of the very important man and approving of the hero's refusal. He shut the book and carried it to the sofa, where he tossed it carelessly. Perhaps he would read it later, if he grew bored enough.

The view outside the windows drew his attention. Shadows lengthened over the canal, but many Muggles strolled along the banks. The evening atmosphere looked pleasant and cool after what had probably been a too-warm day.

Something on the floor caught Draco's eye and he walked over to peer down at it. Potter had finished cleaning and was watching him from the kitchen archway, so Draco asked, "What is this?"

Potter joined him. "A Muggle puzzle. Hermione bought it for me quite some time ago. I was messing with it earlier, but I got frustrated. I've never managed to finish one."

"How does it work?"

"It's just… you know, a puzzle. You put all the pieces in the right places and it makes a picture when you're done. That one is supposed to be…" Potter cocked his head. "A waterfall? I think. I can't remember where I put the box."

Draco knelt down and picked up a piece. "Why haven't you finished it? This one obviously goes here, and that one there. And this one…" He picked up several puzzle bits and placed them in their proper locations. Six more followed and Potter shook his head with a chuckle. "This is simple, Potter."

"Feel free to have a go. I'm going to shower."

Draco gave him a noncommittal grunt and sat down cross-legged on the floor, fully engrossed in hunting through the oddly-shaped pieces. He barely noticed when Potter padded away.

Draco was still hunting down the correct cardboard bits when Potter returned several minutes later, freshly showered and wearing clean clothing. Draco glanced at his attire, wrinkled his nose, and said, "Help me find this blue one. It should have a tiny speck of white in it, just there."

Potter sat next to him and searched through dozens of pieces, turning them this way and that. Draco tried several and finally found the proper one. He gave Potter a smug look. "Tricky bastards," Draco muttered. Potter found a bit of a tree and poked it into place with a return smirk. They spent close to an hour hunting puzzle pieces, until Draco's back ached from sitting on the hard floor, the shadows outside had grown into near-darkness, and the lamps in Potter's flat turned on of their own accord.

Potter stood and stretched; his spine made a popping sound and the hem of his shirt rose to expose an inch of flat abdomen. "Bloody hell, I need to invest in some cushions if we're going to finish that thing."

"Don't quit now," Draco said and gestured. "We're nearly done." He was pleased with the result--almost the entire picture was complete, with the exception of the bloody roiling mist at the base of the falls. The damned pieces were nearly all identical, except for minute variations in the shapes. Draco currently sought one with a point just there on the lower right corner…

"I don’t have the patience for puzzles. I'll watch while you finish it. Do you want to listen to the Wireless?"

"I suppose. As long as they aren't playing the Weird Sisters or any of that maudlin Warbeck tripe."

The Wireless was, in fact, broadcasting the Quidditch game between Portugal and France. Draco had forgotten it was nearly World Cup time. It was a year away, but everyone would act as though it would happen soon.

"Who are you for?" Potter asked.

Draco shrugged. He wasn't particularly fond of either team, really. "France, I suppose, since I have relatives there."

Potter snorted. "That's not much of a reason to choose France. Portugal has Calista Dulce for Seeker. Have you seen her move?"

"It isn't my only reason. France's Palange twins have scored more points than anyone else in the League this year."  _ And they were bloody fit _ , Draco added to himself.

"Raimundo and Rainier? True, but a good Seeker can make that meaningless if she finds the Snitch fast enough."

They argued amicably whilst the game went on and Draco located more puzzle pieces. He crowed whenever one of the Palange twins scored and Potter grimly cheered whenever the announcer mentioned his Portuguese Seeker. In the end, Calista Dulce found the Snitch just as Draco pressed the final piece into the puzzle. Both he and Potter cheered and then looked at one another in surprise.

"Finished," Draco explained.

Potter hurried over and grinned. "Well, that's more of an achievement than Portugal taking the win. Congratulations."

Draco preened. "Yes, well." He looked away. "I think I'll read for a bit." After finally levering himself out of bed, he found himself reluctant to return to it.

"Oh. I suppose I should go over the Henning case once more. Couldn't hurt."

"Good," Draco said decisively. "You can do that at the table whilst I read over there. I am going to attempt this Muggle book--do not say a  _ bloody word _ \--and I will probably need you to translate some of the incomprehensive phrases."

Potter brightened immediately. "Which book--oh. You'll like that one, I think. I actually read that one. I'll um… fetch my files."

Potter trotted upstairs and Draco settled onto the sofa and opened the book again. When Potter returned, he made far too much noise shuffling papers, shifting in his chair, tapping his quill against the inkpot, and generally being a bloody distraction, but Draco found he didn't mind all that much.

oooOOOooo

Draco stayed up half the night reading the Muggle book. Despite himself, he was fascinated. He also had a new respect for Muggles after muttering phrases like, "Spell it open!" or " _ Accio _ the bloody thing" and realising the Muggle characters could not. They had to decipher the puzzles, run from pursuers, and avoid danger and death through sheer cleverness and fortitude. At one point, Draco set the book aside and contemplated the things he had been taught since early childhood: that Muggles were inferior, stupid, and a blight upon the face of the earth. It seemed to him that they were, perhaps, quite a lot stronger than he had been taught. After all, to exist with no magic at all would make inventiveness and endurance a necessity. Being raised in such a fashion had probably contributed to Potter's stubbornness and refusal to back down in the face of mortal peril.

Draco glanced at Potter, who had fallen asleep at the table and was drooling on his paperwork. His glasses were askew and likely creating a permanent imprint on his cheekbone. Draco shook his head with a smile. Potter certainly didn't act like someone who had taken down world-class evil. Of course, that might have been part of his charm.

Draco got to his feet and walked over to shake Potter by the shoulder. "Wakey, wakey, Chosen One."

Potter sat up quickly, wand immediately in hand and eyes alert, and Draco nearly leaped back in alarm. Bloody hell, it was uncanny how quickly he could go from harmless to lethal. Draco supposed he  _ was  _ capable of taking down world-class evil, after all. Luckily, the “twitch-wrong-and-die” look left Potter's green eyes, replaced by a wide-eyed stare of near-innocence.

"Sorry!" Potter said and put his wand away. "Um… bit of an overreaction there. Reflex."

Draco refrained from mentioning that it was fine. In fact, it was better than fine; the blood was racing in Draco’s veins. Potter's steely Auror-ness had been a surprising turn-on.

"Just…" Draco coughed. "Just thought you should probably go to bed before you saturate your important work papers in saliva."

Potter wrinkled his nose. "Yeah. Probably." He tapped the paper with his wand and the wet spot vanished. "You going to bed?"

Draco shook his head. "I've been sleeping for days. I want to read for a while longer."

Potter nodded and got to his feet. "Well. Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight, Potter."

_ Saturday, 30th July, 2005 _

Draco was asleep when Harry climbed out of bed, but he came downstairs before Harry had the bacon half-cooked. Harry smiled when he saw him, secretly relieved. He hoped Draco would not revert back to nonstop sleeping and a complete lack of interest in life.

"That smells nice," Draco said and pulled a hand through his pale hair. It was more mussed than Harry had ever seen it and he had to struggle not to stare. Ginny would have called it a “just-shagged look” and Harry had to look away and clear his throat a couple of times to get words to exit properly. Malfoy was an attractive human. What of it?

"Almost ready," Harry replied finally. "I'll get you some tea. How is the book coming?"

Draco made a grunting sound and picked up the fork Harry had set on the counter. He prodded at the bacon. "I finished it last night. Interesting premise. Are there more?"

"Books by that author? Or similar topics?"

"Both, I suppose."

"If you liked that one, you might like Connelly." Harry grinned and gave him a wicked look. "Or maybe not."

"Why not?"

"The hero's name is Harry."

Draco gave him a sidelong look. "Is there a heroic illness that goes with the name?"

Harry chuckled and handed Draco his tea. Draco put down the fork and accepted it, cradling the cup as though it contained life itself. He took a drink and then released a contented sigh. Harry gave him a gentle push, a little amazed at his temerity. "Go sit down. I'll bring your food."

Draco moved away and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "House-elf" before seating himself at the table.

Harry slid the food onto two plates and took them to the other room before Summoning his tea and the utensils.

"Show off," Draco said as he took a bite of bacon.

"Just eat," Harry replied. He tucked into his own plate and they were silent for long minutes, munching contentedly until Harry began to stab at his bacon, lost in thought.

"Spit it out, Potter."

Harry looked at him. "What?"

"Whatever is on your mind. Stop tormenting your breakfast and say it."

Harry nodded. "All right. You know that tomorrow is… Well. Tomorrow is my birthday."

Draco stared at him, looking flabbergasted, as though he hadn't heard anything so preposterous. "Your birthday."

Harry nodded.

"Bloody Harry Potter Day."

Harry frowned. "You will never catch me calling it that, but it  _ is  _ my birthday and…"

Draco glared daggers at him from across the table. The temperature seemed to have dropped twenty degrees. "And?"

"And usually I go to the Burrow… I mean, the Weasleys', and…"

"No," Draco said flatly.

"But…"

"Absolutely not."

"As I was about to say, I doubt you would be at all comfortable there, so I owled Molly and explained the situation and she--they--have agreed to come here. To celebrate. Because I couldn't talk them out of it!" Harry sat back and waited for the explosion.

"Here? All of the Weasleys will be  _ here _ ? All of them?"

Draco's question was milder than expected. "No, not all. Only the ones currently nearby. Um, Ron and Hermione, of course. Molly and Arthur. George. And Ginny."

Draco looked unimpressed. "How many more are there?"

"Um. Charlie. And Bill. With Fleur, of course."

"So all of the Weasleys but three will be here tomorrow?"

"More or less."

"Salazar save me. I will stay upstairs. It will be fine." Despite his placid tone, Draco sounded slightly panicked to Harry.

"It will! And you can stay down here. You're invited, of course."

Draco shook his head. "Me, mingling with a house full of Weasleys? I think not."

Harry sighed. "Well, if you change your mind…"

"I won't. And if you would cast a Silencing Charm to keep the noise down, that would be lovely." He lifted his chin to indicate the open area above.

"All right."

Harry spent most of the morning cleaning everything that wasn't already spotless. Draco opened another book and lounged on the sofa, reading. He toyed with the silver key he wore around his neck and for some reason Harry found it distracting. They were supposed to travel to the Manor for tea, but instead Narcissa came to Harry's flat, house-elf in tow, bearing enough parcels and bags that Harry wondered if he had enough room on the table for all of them.

"What is all this?"

"Just a few things I thought you might need," she said. By the time she'd finished unpacking, Harry's pantry was stuffed to the ceiling, she'd enlarged three of his cupboards, and Draco's room contained a new wardrobe cabinet. 

Narcissa and Draco spent half the afternoon sharing a bottle of wine and discussing societal gossip that Harry listened to with half an ear whilst he consolidated his seasonings and tossed half of them to make room for the new items. Some of her purchases looked amazing, like the loaf of herb and cheese-laced bread that Harry couldn't wait to taste. The huge box of truffles had been commandeered by Draco and Harry doubted he would ever see them again, much less be allowed to sample one of the gourmet chocolates.

Several owls came and went, mainly from Hermione and Molly, who were coordinating Harry's birthday celebration. Harry hoped they were not planning anything too extravagant; he much preferred a simple gathering with the lot of them over a raucous party. One owl was from Parkinson requesting permission to visit, and Harry could not suppress a grin as he jotted a note to inform her that Narcissa was currently in attendance, but she was welcome to join them. Harry made a mental reminder to ask Draco why there was such bad blood between Parkinson and his mother.

Harry had one heart-stopping moment just before Narcissa departed. He had decided to make shepherd's pie for dinner and noticed that despite his food order earlier in the week and Narcissa's shopping spree, he was completely out of peas. He pulled out his wand, intending to pop out to a shop and purchase some. The words were half on his lips and he was visualising the grocer's shop when a gasp tore from his throat and he threw his wand onto the counter in a panic. He leaned against the stove, shaken to the core at his near-mistake.

"What are you doing in there, Potter?" Draco called.

"Nothing!" Harry replied. "Just dropped something." His voice sounded high and panicked and he picked up his wand carefully.

One simple Apparition and Draco would be dead.

Steadying himself, Harry cast a series of Anti-Disapparition Charms that would have kept Dumbledore himself inside the flat. Breathing a sigh of relief at the knowledge that he could no longer accidentally Disapparate, Harry used Draco's owl to send away for a package of peas.


	13. CHAPTER TWELVE - Harry Potter Day

_**The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed,** _

_**Lets in new light through chinks that time hath made.** _

_**~Edmund Waller** _

_ Sunday, 31st July, 2005 _

Cards and gifts began pouring in for the Chosen One starting just past midnight. By morning, there was an untidy mound in front of the fireplace, and probably a small mountain in Potter's bedroom (where an owl port allowed the birds to enter and exit at will). Draco was pleased, however, that his was the first gift that Potter actually opened.

Potter was nursing a cup of tea and staring morosely into the liquid when Draco glided downstairs and tossed the large silver-wrapped box in front of him.

"Happy Birthday, Scarhead," he said and went to pour himself a cuppa.

"You got me a gift?"

"Do you see any other scarheads here?"

"Is it going to attack me when I open it?"

"You'll find out," Draco said enigmatically and leaned against the archway with his steaming cup. Potter pulled at the bright green ribbon.

"Poisonous snakes?"

"Don't you speak Parseltongue?"

"Not anymore."

That was a surprise. And yet another story Draco would have to pry out of him one day.

Despite his obvious trepidation, Potter opened the box to reveal Draco's gift--a set of very expensive silk pyjamas in emerald green. The fact that they almost perfectly matched Potter's eyes was coincidental.

"Those rags you wear to sleep in were offending my sensibilities. If I am forced to see you every morning for the foreseeable future, you should at least be presentable."

"I don't think I've ever received a gift so beautiful and insulting at the same time."

Draco preened, taking it as a compliment. "Well, go and try them on."

Potter sighed. "Yes, your Lordship." He dropped the pyjamas back into the box and took the lot of it upstairs, wrapping and ribbon included.

When Potter came down again, Draco had cause to regret his own brilliance. Potter looked ridiculously good in the pyjamas. They fit him to perfection, of course. Draco had ordered the garment through Madam Malkin, who likely had Potter's measurements memorised in case the hero should call her in the middle of the night to demand new robes. Not that he ever would, of course, that was more something Draco would do (and possibly had done more than once in response to Blaise's drunken urging).

"Thanks," Potter said. "They feel nice. What are you doing?"

"Making breakfast," Draco said and cracked an egg into the sizzling skillet. He frowned and fished out several bits of shell with a fork. It was trickier than it looked.

"Um… are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"I have watched you and if you can do it, how hard can it be?"

Potter visibly cringed. "All right, then. I'll just be out here. Shout if you set anything on fire or need help."

In the end, breakfast did not turn out too badly. The toasting device cooked the bread slices perfectly, and the sausages were only partially burned. The beans were a total loss, as Draco had forgotten to stir them and they had affixed quite firmly to the bottom of the pot with a stink that would have filled the house had Potter not rushed in and Vanished them before dispelling the smell with a wand-wave. To Potter's credit, he said nothing and ate the remainder of his breakfast whilst complimenting Draco on the eggs.

"Aren't you going to open those?" Draco asked with a gesture at the growing pile of well-wishes in front of the fireplace.

Potter wrinkled his nose. "Eventually, I suppose. Most of them aren't from anyone I know. I don't understand why people even send them."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Potter, they are  _ gifts _ . Who cares why they send them?" Obviously, the man had no idea how to handle celebrity. "I will open them for you."

Potter perked up. "You will? That's brilliant! Beware, though, some of them are… Well. I have received a fair few dangerous items."

"Hate mail is to be expected from the jealous sort."

"Not that. I meant the ones laced with love potions. Some of them get pretty creative." Potter blushed as he spoke.

Draco did not bother to suppress his amusement. "Oh, now I can hardly wait."

"I'll get the antidotes, just in case. And I'll clean this up. Thank you for breakfast, and the pyjamas."

Draco gave him a solemn nod and then hurried over to start sorting. Potter was definitely an odd duck. Gifts were the very best thing about birthdays.

An hour later, Potter looked up from the crossword he had been scribbling on. It was a Quibbler crossword, so Draco suspected half the words were made-up.

"Done, for the moment. This pile is crap, unflattering notes, and revolting gifts such as that plaster crup--honestly, why would someone make that, much less purchase it as a gift--and boring birthday wishes. I would  _ Incendio  _ the lot of it. This pile is full of decent things that you should either find a place for or mark for regifting. Granger will probably want  A Briefe History of Quilles . Merlin knows you won't read it, but she probably will."

Draco gestured at the third stack of items. "These gifts are either quite nice or socially important. Bernardetta Baxleigh has repugnant taste and this vase needs to be put out of your misery, but she is the chief editor at Witch Weekly, so a thank you card would not be unwise. We don't want to lose your status as World's Most Eligible Wizard for the fourth year running, after all."

"Yes, we totally do," Potter muttered. "What is that last pile?"

"This one is solely for my amusement. I plan to compile a scrapbook. It is mostly horrible poetry and cards gushing about your manly attributes or your…" Draco fished out a bright pink card, "'…eyes like verdant fields of alfalfa.' And a few that are pure pornography. People would like to do some interesting things to you, Potter. Would you like to hear?"

Potter blanched. "Absolutely not. Please put all of those on the  _ Incendio  _ pile."

"Oh, no, Potter. These are literary gold and potential blackmail material. I am fairly certain this one came from the wife of the head of the Department of Magical Transportation. Apparently, she is fond of the way you fill out your Auror robes and would like to see how you look out of them."

Potter's horrified look caused Draco to burst out laughing. Potter abandoned the sofa to snatch the letter from Draco's hand. He scanned it and seemed genuinely perplexed. "I… I don't recall ever meeting her."

"She obviously remembers meeting you," Draco said with a leer.

"I'll try to avoid all future functions where she might be present."

"Probably a good idea. And you might avoid dark alleys," Draco took up another juicy card and continued, "because this person would like to 'shove you up against a wall in a public place and lick your manly shaft like a lolly.'" Draco lifted a brow and smirked at him. "Unless you're into exhibitionism, of course."

Potter's face was scarlet. "Who is that one from?"

Draco tsked. "It's anonymous. You'll just have to watch yourself in public places, yes?"

"That's… terrifying."

Draco shook his head, but he secretly thought it was less terrifying than hot, as long as he was the one thrusting Potter up against a wall and tasting his "manly shaft" and not some faceless stranger. Draco tried to push the image away. "Poor Potter. You have to be on the alert for deadly criminals and deranged lolly-lickers. Good thing you're a trained Auror."

Potter gave him a quelling look. "I am going to get dressed. Feel free to burn those."

"Don't you want to hear the poem comparing you to a box of kittens?"

Potter fled.

oooOOOooo

  
  


Draco lay on his sofa bed and tried to tune out the sounds of merriment coming from below. Potter had offered to cast a Silencing Charm, as Draco had requested earlier, but Draco had refused. "How will I eavesdrop?" The comment had earned a smile and head-shake from Potter before he had reiterated his invitation for Draco to join them. In hindsight, Draco should have allowed the Charm. Listening to the friendly chatter was making him maudlin.

Granger and Weasley had arrived first, of course. Draco had been safely ensconced in his room by then, having no desire to face their accusatory looks. It had been Potter's idea to take on Draco's problem, but he doubted that Potter's friends would see it that way.

They moved almost immediately to the kitchen where Draco could hear little of their conversation, which was probably intentional. The Weasley parents arrived next, with Ginevra and the other Weasley male who wasn't George, and the noise level rose abruptly. There followed several minutes of Ministry gossip with an information exchange between all of their departments, interspersed with Molly Weasley forcing them to chop, fetch, set the table, and perform other meal-related tasks.

George Weasley arrived with his girlfriend, Angelina. Draco remembered her from school, mostly from her stint as the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. The noise level rose again shortly thereafter, and Draco assumed it had something to do with a series of popping sounds that preceded Molly Weasley's shrieking and raucous laughter from the others. A balloon floated up past the balcony to bounce against the ceiling. Draco eyed it warily. Anything that came from George Weasley was suspect.

The red balloon did nothing more sinister than bob along the ceiling, however, so Draco tried to turn his attention back to his book and ignore the merriment from below. He was tempted to join them if only to enjoy the shocked silence that would accompany his appearance.

Music started up and effectively drowned all conversation. Draco scowled and turned a page. People came and went, and Draco only occasionally recognised a voice. Lovegood and Longbottom, of course. And one of the other Gryffindor boys, Thomas or Finnigan, probably.

The smell of food caused Draco's stomach to growl. He decided he should have stocked up on snacks beforehand, although he did have the box of truffles that his mother had dropped off. 

Draco sat up when a knock sounded on his door. Potter popped his head in. "Hey, um. I thought I'd check how you're doing. Would you like some cake? I brought some other stuff, too. He Levitated a large tray over to the desk and Draco forced a smile. "Are you sure you won't come down?"

"I'm sure."

Potter nodded. "All right. But if you change your mind…"

Potter disappeared and Draco tried to ignore the food on the tray, in case Potter popped back inside unexpectedly. His caution seemed justified a moment later when the door burst open.

"Potter, I--" he began and stopped short as Pansy shouldered her way into his room. Before he could do more than register her identity, she pounced on him and nearly crushed him with the force of her hug.

"Draco, I've been so worried! First I had to hear about this whole Potter thing third or fourth hand, thanks to your  _ fabulous  _ mother, and then when I came to see you either you were sleeping or  _ that woman _ was here, and… Darling, how are you? I can't believe you are bound to Potter! How is that going, by the way?"

Draco blinked at her as she pulled away, but she seemed to have already forgotten her questions. She tsked at him.

"And it's Harry Potter Day. I knew you would be in here moping so I came to keep you company. I bribed Potter to let me in with a gift."

Draco tried to pretend he hadn't been moping, although he didn't bother to fake displeasure at seeing her. He would have kissed her if the thought didn't cause him to break out in hives. "A gift? What did you get him?"

"Some hair products. Honestly that mop of his needs some work. Perhaps you can assist with that while you're living here. Is that cake?"

"Hands off the cake!"

She Summoned the tray and they examined the items with interest. Along with a huge slab of chocolate cake, there were pastry bites, sausages in a tangy dipping sauce, and small sandwiches that would never have graced a table at the Manor, being composed of thick slabs of meat and cheese instead of delicate spreads and watercress.

"This is divine," Pansy mumbled around a bit of something that had looked unappetising--a greenish glop atop a flat cracker. "I'll say one thing for the Weasleys, they know how to eat."

Draco started on the cake first, because, obviously. The icing practically melted on his tongue. He moaned aloud.

"Salazar, Draco, if you make that sound often enough you'll have Potter in your bed in no time."

Draco choked and then swallowed quickly to avoid a coughing fit. "What?"

"Don't give me that. You are stuck to his side for the next how-many-months? You might as well make the most of it. He is fit, after all."

"Fit, straight, and taken," Draco muttered.

"When did that ever stop you?"

"I don't want Potter," Draco said firmly.

She gave him a sceptical look, but let it drop. "I also brought you a gift." She reached into her robe and pulled out a large bottle of Ethan's Elixir, a rare, expensive, and very tasty whiskey.

"Good. I need something to wash down this cake." Draco took the bottle and poured a swig into his mouth. It burned all the way down and then banked into a low, pleasant fire in the pit of his belly. He realised with a start of pleasure that he could enjoy alcohol again without worrying about excruciating side effects.

Pansy took it and drank also. Draco waited until she was about to swallow before he asked, "How is Theo?"

She kept from choking, barely, and gave him a venomous glare. "He's fine." Her tone smacked of "end of discussion" so Draco grinned.

"Still in denial, then?"

"Do you really want to go there, Mr I-Don't-Want-Potter?"

Draco pursed his lips. He supposed she had a valid point.

The red balloon chose that moment to burst and the air was suddenly filled with fairies. They flew through throughout the room, squealing, and lobbed wrapped sweets at the heads of the guests, including Draco and Pansy. Pansy's Shield Charm saved them both from a pelting. Judging by the shouts from below, some of the others hadn't been so quick.

" _ George _ !" Mollly Weasley bellowed.

Pansy snorted and took another drink. "I'm glad we're up here."

Draco almost agreed.

oooOOOooo

  
  


Draco woke to a soft tapping noise. He opened his eyes and tried to sit up, only to find Pansy sprawled over his chest like a lifeless lump. The door opened a crack and Draco craned his neck to see Potter peering through the gap. Draco groaned. The sound caused Pansy to lift her head and blink at him blearily.

Potter opened the door wider. "The party is over, so you guys… Well, you could have come down earlier."

Pansy pushed away from Draco and tried to smooth down her hair. It was only sticking up a bit on one side. Draco hoped she hadn't drooled on him. "Sorry, Potter. I have no intention of willingly spending time with gingers. It might be contagious." She crawled over Draco and got to her feet, showing far too much leg for Draco's comfort.

"Thanks for keeping Draco company," Potter said.

"It was my pleasure," Pansy purred. She leaned down and attacked Draco with her mouth, sucking at his lips like a remora, despite Draco's efforts to push her away. She had always been stronger than she looked. When she pulled away, Draco noticed Potter's brows had nearly disappeared into his hairline. Draco snorted. If a bit of kissing disturbed him, it was a good thing he'd sorted Gryffindor. Pansy's roaming hands and eager lips were legendary in Slytherin House.

Pansy gathered her things--leaving the partially full bottle--and made as if to slide past Potter, but then she stopped.

"Happy birthday, Potter," she purred and then trapped him against the door and delivered the same snogging treatment that she had bestowed upon Draco. Potter thrashed a bit and made a panicked-sounding squeak, but after a moment he relaxed and his hands rose to hover over her ample hips. Draco nearly laughed; the girl knew how to use her mouth, that was certain.

Potter looked dazed to the point of catatonia when she finally released him just as Draco was getting ready to throw his book at her, the hateful cow. She patted Potter's cheek and gave him a dazzling grin. "There. Now you two have kissed each other, by proxy. Have a nice night."

Her chuckles lingered as she went out. Draco heard her heels clack on the stairs and then the Floo whooshed and she was gone.

"Um…" Potter said eloquently.

"Yes," Draco agreed.

"I think I'll go to bed now."

"Good plan."

Potter hurried down the hall and Draco wondered bitterly if Potter planned to crawl into bed and wank to the memory of Pansy pressed all over him like a… well, like the bloody oversexed bint that she was.

Draco got up and put his pyjamas on, leaving his clothes on the floor because not being able to fold them with a flick of his wand was really bloody annoying. He was not at all irritated with Pansy for kissing Potter.

_ Not at all. _

He snarled and climbed into bed, cursing Potter and his stupid birthday.

oooOOOooo

_ Monday, 1 August, 2005 _

Draco’s fingers wrapped around his teacup as though it contained a magical potion that would save him from the day to come. Despite his efforts to hide it, Potter must have noticed his nervousness.

“Are you all right?”

_ Oh fine _ , Draco thought.  _ Just brilliant. I get to accompany the Chosen One to the Auror Department and sit with him in his office all day whilst his Ministry coworkers come by to gawk at me. An excellent time shall be had by all _ .

“Fine,” he said aloud. “Too much whiskey last night, I think."

"I have a hangover potion if you need one.” 

Potter’s solicitation was not helping Draco’s mental state. He debated whether or not a good old argument would help him to feel more at ease and decided it probably would not. “No."

“All right. Um. Are you ready?"

Despite his desire to repeat the negative, Draco swallowed hard and nodded. When he put on a heavy black cloak and pulled the hood low over his face, Potter said nothing, merely waited by the fireplace for Draco. His hands were filled with files and papers, the same ones he'd been poring over for the past few days.

"Are you sure it's safe to travel this way? Both of us together?" Draco already knew it was safe, of course, having done it with Blaise dozens of times, but he couldn’t see the harm in stalling just a little longer.

"Ron and Hermione tried it after she did some research. She says it's perfectly safe as long as we hold tightly, just like a Side-along Apparition, and step in together." 

Draco didn't move. "Really."

"Yes, really. Do you think I would lie about that?"

"I don't know. Would you?"

"Of course not!"

Reminding himself of his current unwillingness to argue, Draco took a handful of Floo Powder with one hand and reached out to take Potter's wrist with the other. At Potter's nod, he tossed the powder as Potter yelled, "Ministry of Magic!" just before they both stepped into the flames.

The Atrium was packed with people and Draco stayed close to Potter's heels, feeling slightly panicked at the thought of being separated from him in the crowd. One wrong bump and Potter could be swept away, and then it would be  _ goodbye, Draco _ . Potter nudged him into a lift and then they were pushed together into a corner as other employees joined them. Draco stood behind Potter and felt the warmth of his back pressing against Draco's chest. Potter's hair was still slightly damp from his shower and curled at the back of his neck. If Draco leaned forwards just a bit, he could tuck his nose into the whorls of hair and breathe in the scent of Potter's shampoo.

"Morning, Harry!" someone called.

"Hello, Jag," Potter replied.

"Were you on holiday or off on a case?"

"Holiday."

"Welcome back. Auror canteen is out of tea."

Potter groaned. "Again?"

"Sounds like a case for the Aurors," someone else joked.

Potter chuckled and then glanced at Draco, who surreptitiously gripped the edge of Potter's sleeve as they pushed through the crowd to escape the lift. The walk to Potter's office was easier than Draco had envisioned, mainly due to the fact that only two other people were present on the floor.

"We're a bit early," Potter commented. He waved at the other two Aurors as they passed, but neither of them commented beyond a standard greeting.

Potter's office was much larger than Blaise's, as expected, but it was far from posh. A single large desk sat before a charmed window that displayed a partially cloudy sky over a stone bridge.  Potter noticed his gaze and said, "It's charmed to show the view over Tower Bridge. I like to know what the weather is like outside before I pop out into it unawares."

Draco frowned when he realised there would be none of that in the future unless Potter took Draco along. Potter was effectively a deskbound Auror now. As if sensing Draco's thoughts, Potter had his wand out and was busily rearranging his office. A round table and four chairs sat in one corner until Potter Transfigured it into a second desk. One of the chairs became a comfy-looking leather chair with wheels.

"Try that," Potter said, "and let me know if you prefer it higher or lower, or whatnot."

Draco sat down and swivelled in it a few times before pulling it up to the desk. "About an inch higher, I think," he said. Potter adjusted it with a spell and then stood silently, looking awkward. Draco opened the knapsack he'd brought along and began to stack his writing materials in an orderly fashion on his new desk.

"I plan to write whilst you do…" Draco waved a hand, "whatever it is you do."

Potter sat down with a curt nod. "Excellent. I can get started on these, then. Um… would you like coffee? Apparently, there is no tea, unless we trek out to a shop or steal some from the Magi-Law Department. They hate that."

"I'm fine," Draco said, having no intention of venturing out in the company of Potter. He stood and took off his cloak, which Potter immediately levitated across the room to drape over a coat tree. Draco suppressed a sigh and wondered if Potter planned to anticipate Draco's every move for the foreseeable future. He supposed it wasn't a bad thing.

Potter at work was not much different than Potter at home, Draco noticed. He still fidgeted a lot, stared into space instead of working, tugged at his hair, and made annoying humming sounds when he was deep in thought. Once he learned to ignore Draco, however, he seemed to become more productive. He answered several origami memos, scratched notations onto a handful of files, and mumbled to himself as he adjusted tiny pins on a huge map of London that filled one entire wall of the office.

Potter's biggest distraction was, in fact, people. They came and went like visitors to the zoo, bringing gifts and tea and files and gossip. They all looked at Draco curiously, but few were bold enough to blatantly ask about his presence. There were exceptions to that rule, of course. Ron Weasley was the first.

"I brought you some decent coffee," Weasley said as he barged in, dropped into one of the pair of chairs before Potter's desk, and slid a steaming paper cup across the desk towards Potter. He glanced at Draco and said in a grudging tone, "Didn't know if you liked coffee, Malfoy."

Draco shrugged, not answering one way or the other. In fact, Draco had no idea if he liked coffee or not. He had enjoyed cappuccino a number of times, but whether or not it was similar to what Weasley and Potter thought of as coffee, he wasn't certain.

Potter sipped at the beverage and then shut his eyes with an approving sigh. Draco looked away and tried not to think about how fetching Potter looked in his Auror robes. Draco had nearly turned right round and gone into the bathroom for an emergency wank that morning upon first viewing Potter dressed for the office, even though he’d immediately kicked himself for the thought.

"So, how is this going to work, then?" Weasley asked.

"Well," Potter replied, "I am pretty much tied here… I mean, I can leave, of course, as long as I take Draco with me, although I'll need to clear him for visiting crime scenes with Kingsley."

"Oh yeah, that reminds me. Kingsley wants to see you. ‘At your convenience,’ he says."

"Thanks. I suppose we can go now. If you're at a stopping point, Draco?"

Draco looked up from the stick figure he'd been doodling on a scrap of parchment. He shuffled it unobtrusively into the stack. "I can take a break." He glanced longingly at his cloak before trailing after Potter. As much as he would like to hide amongst its folds and remain invisible, he supposed it might seem cowardly, particularly to Potter. Draco preferred not to see disdain upon Potter's face; he wouldn't want to have to remove it with a fist. He grinned at the thought.

They received several curious glances during their passage back through Auror headquarters, but no one stopped to ask any questions. Potter's stride was brisk and business-like; he was in full Auror mode, for certain. Shacklebolt's secretary waived them into the office immediately. Draco nearly gnashed his teeth when he thought of all the times he had requested an audience with the Minister and been forced to wait for upwards of an hour. Potter, evidently, got special treatment. The fact that he had been summoned by the Minister made little difference to Draco's way of thinking.

"Harry, come in. Welcome, Mr Malfoy. May I call you Draco?" The Minister's voice was just a hair below "booming" and Draco suppressed a wince.

"Of course you may, Kingsley," Draco said with a gracious nod.

Shacklebolt's brows drew down and he stared at Draco for a moment before a laugh bellowed forth. "Merlin's beard, Harry, you are going to have your hands full with him. However, fate willing, it shall all turn out for the best. I've arranged a press conference for you."

"A  _ what _ ?" Potter looked so stricken Shacklebolt might have mentioned Dementors rather than a silly press conference.

"Don't give me that look, Harry, I've told you time and again that you need to rid yourself of your inexplicable phobia of the press."

"It isn't a phobia!" Potter insisted. "It's  _ loathing _ . The newspapers do little more than print salacious gossip, false speculation, and blatant lies. Holding a press conference will only give them the opportunity to twist whatever I say into a dozen different falsehoods. Why do they need to know about this?"

"Because one of my Aurors took it upon himself to magically bond with a former Death Eater--no offense, Draco--for an unknown amount of time, thereby nullifying his ability to do his job properly. If you think Draco's presence in your office has not already been noted and remarked-upon, you are gravely underestimating the speed of the Ministry grapevine."

Potter glared. "You're saying the papers are going to print hypothetical gossip anyway."

"Of course they are. Therefore, it is up to you to turn the public away from detrimental wild stories and point them towards the truth: that their shining hero did not shirk from performing yet another selfless act."

Potter did not look appeased; if anything, he appeared as though he had eaten a bag of lemons. His sour expression faded somewhat as he turned to Draco. His green eyes went wide and beseeching. "Draco," he said, "you are good at public speaking. And you get on with the press. Rita Skeeter even trusted you with her little secret during the Tri-Wizard Tournament back in school. Surely, you can--?"

"Leave me out of this, Potter."

"But--"

"When they find out I'm a bloody Squib they'll tear me to pieces," Draco snapped.

"They won’t," Shacklebolt interjected.

Draco gave him a curious glance.

"No, they  _ will not _ find out about your loss of magic. How many people know already?"

Potter looked just as perplexed as Draco felt. "Um. Draco's mum. Hermione. Ron, of course, and Draco's friends. The healers at St Mungos…"

"Pretty much the entire Wizarding World knows, all right?" Draco knew his voice was petulant, but he didn't care.

Shacklebolt shook his head. "Not so. I would say only your most trusted friends know, as well as Draco's personal healer and her assistant, and they are bound by their professional oaths. If you swear your friends and family to silence, we may be able to keep a lid on this."

"Why?" Potter asked. "It won't be hard for them to figure it out--"

"Why would it?" Draco countered, snatching onto the unexpected glimmer of hope. If the Minister himself was against Draco revealing his lack of magic, perhaps there was a chance that it would not, in fact, become common knowledge.

"Well… it's sort of obvious."

"Obvious to whom? We haven't left your flat except to come here and, believe me, Potter, I never draw my wand when I visit the Ministry, having no desire to be hexed by some eager Junior Auror who decides I'm trying to use Dark Magic when I Summon a cup of tea. It is not unusual for me to use no magic at all while I am here."

Potter blinked and then turned to Shacklebolt. "Do you think Draco would be in danger if word got out?"

"We'll discuss that later, Harry. Right now I want you to get settled into your new office and start preparing for the press conference. Gladys has a list of questions with recommended responses you will want to familiarize yourself with, but first, we'll need to find something for Draco to do."

Draco lifted his head. "Me?"

Shacklebolt nodded. "While your initial cover story of writing a book might have worked whilst you were in attendance with Blaise Zabini, I don't think it will stand up to scrutiny in the company of Harry, here. We need something more plausible, such as giving you an actual task and putting you on the Ministry payroll."

"Me?" he repeated. "Work for the Ministry?"

Shacklebolt laughed again. "No need to sound so mortified, Draco. We have several possibilities for you to choose from. You may catalogue items kept by the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts division--there is a large list of things, well, several volumes, actually, in no particular order. It dreadfully needs organizing." At Draco's less than enthusiastic response, Shacklebolt went on. "Or you can review submissions for potions patents. The current member of DMLE performing that task has taken a sabbatical and will not return for some time. The potions are evaluated based on danger level, degree of potential harm based on the list of ingredients, and verifying that none of the required ingredients or brewing methods is currently illegal."

That one actually sounded vaguely interesting, but Draco kept his features placid. He did not want to work for the Ministry at all, especially considering the past treatment of his family. However, Shacklebolt seemed a decent sort and he had apparently taken a personal interest in Draco's case, even though his ultimate goal was to keep his favourite Auror happy, rather than Draco.

"Or…?" Draco asked.

Shacklebolt frowned. "Or you can review the law files attached to current cases, to see if precedent can be found to sway a case one way or the other. Research is sorely needed when these things go to trial, but our barristers seldom have the time to do a thorough job of it."

"I see. Well, thank you for the offer, but I believe I shall have to consider the options. I really am writing a book and was looking forward to completing it. Is there a time limit on my decision?"

Shacklebolt shook his head, even though his eyes narrowed at Draco. "No, of course not. However, the sooner you make a decision on this, the better. We want to assist you, Draco, and we have high hopes for the future. Not only for you and Harry, but for the entire wizarding world." 

Draco fought not to roll his eyes and actually managed it. "Thank you, Minister."

"Kingsley," he corrected and smiled in a fashion that seemed genuine. He was a perplexing man.

"Wait, did you say  _ new office _ ?" Potter asked, finally chiming in.

oooOOOooo

Harry sensed there was more to Kingsley’s cryptic words than he let on. Was Draco in danger? Harry tracked back over everything he thought he knew about Draco’s curse. They had all assumed it was Voldemort, except for Hermione, but what if that was not the case? What if the attacks on the Death Eaters had a more sinister, more present, origin?

Kingsley called for an aide and the young wizard escorted them through a maze of hallways to an area Harry had never been to before. The Minister's office was on the first level of the Ministry and the offices surrounding his space were filled with the higher echelons of officials--mostly offices for international ambassadors and their staff, as well as aides and consultants that directly served the Minister.

The wizard guiding them opened the door to an office at the end of a long hallway. The room revealed was large and held two full desks that faced one another across a space containing only an exotic-looking carpet.

"I hope you enjoy your new office, Auror Potter. Rumour has it that the carpet is one of the few remaining flying carpets--inert, of course, because they are illegal. If you need anything, I have been assigned to this area." The man paused and then added, "My name is Bertram" before he went out and shut the door behind him.

"Enjoy your office, Auror Potter," Draco mocked. "Did you notice that he did not even see me? Have I gone invisible?" He put his arms out and pirouetted in place.

Harry smiled. "No, you're plenty visible." In fact, Draco seemed to take up most of whatever space he was in, Harry had noticed. He couldn't be invisible if he tried.  _ Presence _ , Harry believed it was called. He forced his attention away from Draco.

One wall was nearly filled with a faux window. It displayed a peaceful-looking scene of a mountain lake, edged in ice. As Harry examined it, a doe emerged from the trees and approached the lake. Harry caught his breath as the scene suddenly morphed into an eerie flashback to that icy-cold night in the Forest of Dean; Harry could only stare helplessly whilst memories came crashing in.

He dimly heard Draco say something, but his attention was far away, fixed on the freezing pool and the memory of the locket of Slytherin dragging him down, down, down into the depths, and then Ron shaking him—

_ Shaking, shaking, shaking. _

“Potter!”

Harry gasped, realising it was Draco shaking him. He ripped his gaze away from the forest scene to stare into wide grey eyes. Draco’s hands were digging into his shoulders almost painfully. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Draco demanded.

“Nothing!” Harry said quickly, trying to shake off the memory and the resultant wave of ice that seemed to slice through his skin. He wasn’t sure, but the room seemed much colder than it had before.

“You look like you’ve seen a bloody Dementor!”

Harry shut his eyes, fighting the urge to step closer to Draco and absorb whatever light and life and warmth he offered. The Forest of Dean. Fuck, what a terrible memory. Harry swallowed hard and located a centre of warmth within himself. Draco needed him to be strong; Harry could not afford to be weak, or Draco would fear for the return of his magic. Besides, it was only a memory. Nothing in the bloody painting could hurt him.

“I’m fine,” Harry insisted and stepped away from Draco’s hands, regretting their warmth for only a moment. “This scene just… well, it brought back some not-so-pleasant memories.” He shuddered and drew his wand to cast a spell at the offending scene. Deer and lake and forest vanished, to be replaced by the London skyline, this time including Big Ben and Parliament. He couldn’t remember how to do the weather charm that would tell him the current conditions. He’d have to look it up, or ask Hermione.

Draco watched him with a dubious expression, but Harry only walked to his new desk and sat down, sinking into the comfort of the leather office chair while attempting to regain his equilibrium. He arched a brow at Draco. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re mental,” Draco mumbled loud enough for Harry to hear, but then he went to the other desk and sat down. “Why the move?” 

“I don’t know." 

“Speculate.” Draco's tone was adamant.

Harry sighed, but he knew Draco had the right to ask questions. “I suspect it’s to get us out of the Auror Division and closer to Kingsley's office where he can keep an eye on us.” 

"Expecting trouble from the Aurors? Are they angry that you can no longer join them in the field? Will they be lost without their figurehead to lead them into battle?” Draco sounded particularly bitter. 

Harry tamped down a flare of annoyance and shook his head. “I don’t think they would be upset about that, although this,” he waved his hand to indicate the space, “might be seen as preferential treatment. My office in the Auror Division was plenty large enough for the two of us. Perhaps I can request it back.” 

Draco shrugged and threw himself into the chair. “I don’t care what you do.”

"Will you take Kingsley up on his offer of a position?"

"I have no desire to help out the bloody Ministry," Draco said and shot Harry a look that clearly told him to back off. "Where was Shacklebolt when I--?" Draco broke off abruptly and looked away. "Anyway. I have writing to do. Does this bloody desk have any writing instruments?" He leaned over and opened and closed the drawers loudly.

Harry was curious also. He wondered if he needed to send for the accoutrements of his old office, or if it would be possible to return there. Even as the questions occurred to him, the door opened and Bertram entered. A veritable whirlwind accompanied him. Objects soared around the room and found places to reside. Harry ducked as his Inbox sailed past and landed upon his desk. The coat tree with Draco's cloak floated into a corner nearest the door.

Harry's files and books arranged themselves in the cabinets and shelves; any hope of having his old office back dimmed. He sighed.

"Will there be anything else, Auror Potter?" Bertram asked.

"Yeah, will you put a sign on my old office directing people this way?" Harry asked dryly. Ron, for one, would certainly have something to say about Harry's relocation. In that, he was completely correct. Ron flung open the door two hours later and put his hands on his hips.

"Here you are! Bloody hell, did they have to put you in a rabbit hole? Took me near twenty minutes to find you."

"Take it up with Kingsley," Harry replied morosely. He was already feeling bored, trapped in his new office going over case files. What had he been thinking, tying himself to Draco Malfoy? He was going to go mad from inaction.

For his part, Draco had largely ignored Harry. He had settled into his new desk and was scribbling away, filling parchment after parchment with his neat, flowery script.

"What are you writing?" Harry had asked once.

"Quidditch stuff. Very boring. You wouldn't understand," Draco had replied. "Now be quiet. I am concentrating." He had not even glanced up from his parchment whilst answering Harry's question. Harry thought it doubtful that Quidditch regulations could be so interesting, but short of Summoning Malfoy's papers, Harry could hardly satisfy his curiosity without starting an argument. Even so, he considered it.

"You obviously need a break. Come along. Lunchtime." Ron glanced at Draco. "I suppose you can come too, Malfoy." He guffawed at his own joke.

Draco glared. "Must we?"

"Aren't you hungry?" Harry asked.

Draco did not reply and Harry recognised his expression as "trying not to say something rude." Harry was slightly surprised that he could already catalogue some of Draco's facial expressions.

"Well, I'm hungry," Harry said and got to his feet. "Come on, then. We can go somewhere Muggle where we won't be gawked at."

Draco seemed even less excited about going "somewhere Muggle" than he had been at the idea of lunch in general, but he obediently got to his feet. He shoved his papers into a drawer and then a panicked look crossed his features.

"How do I lock this?"

Harry stood and hoped Ron would not say anything ridiculous. Harry had thought about what would be like to lose his magic. It would be  _ horrible _ . Even though Harry had lived without it prior to his eleventh year, the thought of not having it now was panic-inducing. He could only imagine how terrifying it would be for someone like Draco, who had been exposed to it since birth and accepted it as a normal part of life. It had to be akin to losing a limb or going blind.

"I'll do it," Harry offered and stepped forward with his wand.

Draco gave him a steely stare. "Then what's to stop you from taking it?"

Harry cocked his head. "Are you joking? I'll be less than thirty feet from you  _ always _ . I am pretty sure you can stop me from stealing a look at your Quidditch book notes."

Draco flushed, but he did not look appeased. "Fine. It will have to do for now. But no tricky business. And I will require an actual lock for this drawer."

Harry snapped a Locking Charm onto the drawer with an irritated flick. "Tell Bertram. He seems willing to cater to our every whim."

"To  _ your  _ every whim, you mean. He thinks I'm bloody invisible."

Harry frowned. Was Bertram really that bad?

"Can we go now? Some of us are starving."

"You're always starving, Ron," Harry replied absently.

"Shall we go to Branigans? We can Apparate to Belkin's Bookshoppe and walk from there."

Harry nodded. Recalling the bridge picture in his former office, it seemed a nice enough day for a stroll. He took off his Auror robes and spelled them onto the coat tree with Draco's cloak. The standard charcoal trousers worked well enough for blending into a Muggle landscape, and the white shirt was only slightly too-formal. The typical excuse, should anyone ask, was that they had just come from a wedding.

Draco, on the other hand, with his black lace-up trousers and silk-embroidered tunic over a bell-sleeved green shirt, looked just off enough to cause suspicion. Harry cocked his head and grinned. Actually, Draco looked eccentrically gay. Harry supposed that excuse would do as well as any, should any Muggle be foolish enough to brave that steely stare to utter a disparaging word. "Ready, Draco?"

The question was met with a noncommittal shrug, so Harry stepped forward and held out his hand. Draco placed his wrist there and Harry's fingers caressed the silver bracelet. Their eyes locked for a moment and something--Harry wasn't sure what--passed between them. Perhaps it was only the physical reminder of their connection, but whatever it was it caused Harry's cheeks to heat. He was glad for the excuse of Apparition to distract Draco and, even worse,  _ Ron  _ from noticing.

The Apparition point at Belkin's Bookshoppe was a large, empty room at the back of the store. Harry always felt bad using it for transportation without buying anything, so he paused on the way through and purchased a leather-bound journal that was adorned with a small iron lock and key.

He handed it to Draco with a smirk. "Here. Your new journal, oh secretive one. I know you have one at home, so you can keep this one at work."

Draco looked surprised and possibly a bit touched. "Thanks," he mumbled.

Ron waited impatiently by the door; he shoved it open when they joined him and they all stepped onto the Muggle pavement. The smell of car exhaust and old London assaulted him. He waited for Draco to say something, but he only crowded closer to Harry and watched the Muggle pedestrians scurry past. Draco's eyes were huge and Harry wondered if he had ever ventured into Muggle London before. He supposed it was entirely possible Draco hadn't, given his family's views on the subject of Muggles in general. At one point Draco stopped and stared into a window.

"What the bloody hell is that?" he asked, pointing.

"Cut-offs. It must be the new style. Muggles sometimes wear clothing that looks as if someone's half-destroyed it." The objects in question were a pair of pale denim shorts that seemed to have been attacked with a kitchen knife. Not only were they almost obscenely short, but they had strategic slashes that exposed even more skin. Of course, the skin in question belonged to a headless Muggle mannequin. Harry tried very, very hard not to imagine how they would look on Draco.

"They wear those  _ in public _ ?"

"Yeah. You might see a few people sporting similar garments, so try not to stare."

"Insane," Draco muttered.

"Come on!" Ron demanded and beckoned. He had little patience for anything that kept him from his lunch, Harry knew. They did, in fact, spy a couple wearing the cut-off jean shorts. The girl's pair was much tinier than her male companion's--his fell to mid-thigh and looked almost modest in comparison.

"Those shoes are curious," Draco said and took his seat at the round table.

"I'll go fetch us a pitcher," Ron said. "You guys decide what you want to eat."

The Muggles that drew Draco's gaze both wore leather sandals. Not completely unseen in the wizarding world, but not exactly common, either. Harry personally thought they were rather ugly. "Would you like a pair?" he asked.

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Me? Certainly not!"

Harry laughed at his supercilious tone. He supposed it was a bit far-fetched to even consider Draco Malfoy wearing Muggle items. "Perish the thought."

"Although…"

Harry lifted a brow, waiting for him to continue.

Draco flushed. "It might not be a bad idea. To try and blend in. With… Muggles." He coughed and twisted the bracelet on his arm. "Since I am… Since I am not much of a wizard at the moment." Then his gaze rose hotly and he glared at Harry. His voice was thick with accusation when he added, "And because  _ you  _ chose to live in a Muggle neighbourhood."

Harry gaped at him, but he was prevented commenting by Ron's return. Ron banged a pitcher on the table and dropped into a chair. "Muggle ale," he commented. "It's not very tasty and has a lower alcohol content than butterbeer, so Kingsley won't have kittens if he drops in to your posh new office for a chin wag."

Ron poured three glasses and then took a long gulp. He snatched up a menu.

"Why are their spectacles dark?" Draco asked. He was still Muggle-watching.

Harry saw a group of Muggle men walk past the café. Two of them wore sunglasses. "To keep the sun out of their eyes. It's more stylish than a hat, I suppose. And they can't use charms to dim the light."

"I sort of like those," Draco mumbled and perused his own menu.

Harry glanced at the Muggles again and thought about Draco wearing sunglasses. "I'll go hand in our order."

While they ate, Draco said little, and Ron talked on and on about a case he was working, seeking Harry's input. Harry answered without much thinking. His mind was elsewhere.

oooOOOooo

Back at the Ministry, Draco immersed himself in a book on Advanced Warding Charms, although he did occasionally unlock his new journal to scrawl a few notes. Harry tried to ignore him and focus on the stack of cold cases that had appeared upon his desk. It would take him some time to put them in order and decide where to start.  Bertram popped in occasionally to see if Harry needed anything and several times Harry gave him messages to send or files to fetch. He had never had a personal assistant before and it was quite nice not to have to traverse half the Ministry running his own errands.

True to Draco's word, however, Bertram ignored him entirely. "Will there be anything else, Auror Potter?" Bertram asked as he placed the latest stack of records atop Harry's desk.

"Yes. Mr Malfoy would like a cup of coffee," Harry said.

Draco's head jerked up and Bertram's features straightened into an expressionless mask. His gaze flicked to Draco and back again.

"As would I," Harry added.

"Cream and sugar?" Bertram asked tonelessly.

"On the side. We will add our own. Unless it's too much trouble." Harry got to his feet. "I can get it myself, I suppose. It is a bit rude to ask you to fetch my coffee, isn't it?" He added a smile that he hoped was charming.

"Oh no, no!" Bertram said quickly, his bland mask dissolving into partial panic and confirming Harry's suspicion that Kingsley had ordered him to serve as Harry's aide--and probably keep an eye on him whilst doing so. "It's no trouble at all! I want to do it. Two coffees coming right up!" With that, he turned and bolted.

"What was that all about?"

Harry shrugged. "Testing a theory."

"He'll spit in my cup," Draco said and turned a page.

About to deny it, Harry remembered Bertram's expression and realized he was probably right.

Bertram returned with a tray bearing two cups, a bowl of sugar, and a small pitcher of milk. He carefully handed Harry a steaming mug and took the other to Draco, who looked at it disdainfully.

"Draco," Harry said, "I think I prefer that mug. Do you mind if we swap?"

Draco gave him a bemused look. "Suit yourself."

Bertram spluttered. "But--! But, Auror Potter!"

Harry Levitated his cup over to Draco's desk and swapped it with the one Bertram had given Draco. "Is there a problem?" Harry asked, tinting his words with iron.

"Ah…" Bertram backed towards the door, looking stricken. "No! No problem at all. I just remembered an urgent… errand I need to run." He fled.

"He definitely spat in that cup," Draco said.

"I believe you may be right." Harry shuddered and pushed the mug away.

"Of course, he might have kissed around the rim of this one," Draco said and lifted it as if to check for lip-prints.

Harry snorted a laugh. "Hardly. Milk and sugar?"

"I don't know. I've never had coffee. How do you drink it?"

Harry carried the tray over and sat on the edge of Draco's desk whilst he mixed in a generous dose of sugar and added a dollop of milk. "There. Try that."

Draco took a tentative sip and then pulled a horrified face. "It's revolting!" He shuddered. "Who drinks this?"

Harry laughed aloud and shook his head. "It grows on you. And nothing beats it for keeping you awake. It's our life-blood on long, boring watches and stakeouts. Don't drink too much or you'll never sleep tonight."

"I won't drink any at all," Draco vowed.

Harry chuckled again and returned to his desk before he Vanished the potentially Bertram-spittle-laden mug. Sometime later he noticed Draco sipping surreptitiously at the coffee, shuddering each time.

After the fourth drink, he noticed Harry watching him. "What? It grows on you."

Harry only smiled and flipped open another file.


	14. CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Puzzles

_**It is only when we silent the blaring sounds of our daily existence that we can finally hear the whispers of truth that life reveals to us, as it stands knocking on the doorsteps of our hearts.** _

_**~K.T. Jong** _

_ Tuesday, 2nd August, 2005 _

A knock sounded on the door and Harry called an absent, "Come in!" assuming it would be Bertram with another file or an offer to deliver messages for Harry. He glanced up when the door opened slowly and Blaise Zabini poked his head in.

"Hi. Um, Harry. Is Draco…?"

Harry looked at Draco, whose eyes had narrowed and he'd taken on something of a dangerous look. Harry assumed he was not too pleased with Blaise, and probably blamed him for his current predicament. Harry wasn't especially happy to see him, either.

"Did you need something?" Draco asked in a polite tone, resembling a friendly store clerk or bored receptionist.

Blaise scowled. "Draco, I haven't seen you since… Well, I haven't seen you. Can we talk?"

"I'm a bit short on privacy right now, so if you wish to see me outside I'm afraid you're out of luck. And, oh my, I cannot cast a Privacy Charm, either, so I'm afraid--"

"I'll do it," Harry said, feeling somewhat embarrassed on Blaise's behalf. Granted, if Blaise hadn't been such a selfish arse, he would be the one living with Draco right now instead of Harry, and he probably deserved Draco treating him like a plague victim, but Harry also knew that Draco was feeling cut off from everything he considered normal and it might help to have his friends around him, even friends he didn't like very much at the moment.

Blaise shot him a grateful smile. Harry ignored Draco's thunderous glare and turned back to his paperwork as Blaise crossed the room and entered Draco's personal space, Transfiguring an empty box into a chair as he went. Harry cast a Muffliato and tried not to wonder what they were saying.

oooOOOooo

Potter's Muffliato settled over them as Blaise dragged a chair close. His expression was beseeching, but Draco was not interested. He dunked his quill into the inkwell and affected an air of disdain.

"Do you not have Quidditch rules to see to?"

"Draco. I've tried to talk to you several times. You were sleeping last time I popped into Potter's. How are you doing?"

Draco's glare could have punctured steel. Blaise flinched.

"Right. That bad. Look, I'm sorry. I'm so,  _ so  _ sorry. I didn't know--"

"You knew. You knew bloody well and you simply didn't care. Going out, having a good time, and shacking up with that ridiculous asshat Naldy was far more important to you than  _ my life _ , so do not try to pretend that you  _ didn't know _ !" Despite his determination to stay aloof and calm, Draco's voice had risen and he had to suppress the urge to throw something at Blaise… such as the desk.

He glanced over to find Potter watching them with an intense expression. For a moment Draco worried that the privacy charm had failed, but then he realised that it was more likely that Potter was reading his body language. He strove to control his anger.

"You're right. You're totally, completely right, Draco, and I don't know how to make it up to you. Naldy is gone. I feel like an idiot for ever bringing him home. I think it was a ploy to make you jealous, to--"

"Jealous?" Despite his resolve, Draco nearly rose from the seat and reached across the desk to throttle Blaise. " _ Jealous _ ?  _ Are you insane _ ? Can you not attempt to think with something other than your cock for once in your bloody life?"

Blaise met Draco's glare with visible heat. "I was! Can't you see that I care about you? I know that I went about it the wrong way, but I was trying to show you that we can be good together. We could have weathered this together if only you had let me in, Draco!"

Draco gripped his quill so tightly that the delicate instrument compressed. Blaise and his delusional belief that Draco need only fall into his bed for everything to be perfect in his world. Draco thought it more likely that it would have bored Blaise into seeking out the next notch on his bedpost. "Well, that point's moot, isn't it?" he snapped rather than point out the obvious.  Blaise glanced across the room to Potter, who now seemed to be working away, oblivious to their argument, except that Draco already knew Potter was never that engrossed in his work. Curiosity practically oozed from Potter's pores and poked at the privacy screen he had cast.

Blaise reached across the desk. "No! No, Draco, it really isn't! I swear! Just because you are bound to Potter doesn't mean that I don't still want you! I promise I will try to become worthy of you! By the time you're free of Potter, I will prove to you that I'm not some shallow attention whore. I really, truly care about you."

It took an act of will to keep from rolling his eyes, but Blaise seemed so fervent that Draco didn't have the heart to destroy him, even though he had obviously gone stark raving mad. Instead, he lifted a brow. "Really?" His voice dripped sarcasm.

Blaise got to his feet and leaned over the desk to grasp Draco's hand. He squeezed. "Yes. You’ll see." With one last intense stare, he let go of Draco's hand, nodded to Potter, and went out.

Potter waved a hand and dispelled the charm. "What was that all about?"

Draco shrugged and opened his desk drawer to locate a new quill. "Blaise has lost his mind. Nothing to worry about."

Potter could not seem to come up with a reply and Draco went back to ignoring him. 

_ Friday, 5th August, 2005 _

By Friday, they had settled into something of a routine. Potter would wake early, cook breakfast, rouse Draco, and wait for him to shower and dress. They would eat a quick meal together and Floo to the Ministry. Draco would hide inside his cloak and Potter would greet his fellow coworkers and field questions and comments. Once inside the safety of their office, Draco would emerge from his concealing cloak, sit down at his desk, and start on his favourite project--avoiding anything Shacklebolt asked of him.

The Minister had strongly hinted, many times, that he would appreciate Draco accepting a position with the Ministry. Draco had evasively refused, insisting only that he would "think about it" whilst having no intention of doing so.

Time was growing short. Potter's press conference was scheduled for Friday evening and Draco knew the Minister would like nothing better than to announce Draco's falling into line as part of Potter's Pet Project (or Triple Pee, as Draco liked to refer to it). Draco refused to give Shacklebolt the satisfaction. Let the bastard sweat.

Potter, on the other hand, was the one sweating. As Friday evening loomed closer and closer, the Chosen One slid deeper and deeper into panic mode.

"I can't do this," he moaned from his desk, voice muffled by the hands currently covering his face.

"Potter, you stood up to the Dark Lord a multitude of times, beginning when you were eleven years old. I think you can handle a few cantankerous press persons." Draco shook his head and took a drink from his coffee cup. The vile liquid wasn't so bad after a healthy addition of something Draco had discovered in the canteen cooling unit--condensed milk with flavouring added. Rather than trust Bertram the Spitter with their beverages, Potter and Draco had taken to stopping into the canteen in the morning prior to continuing on to their office.

"They hate me almost as much as he did," Potter mumbled.

Draco shook his head and drank deeply. The flavour of the day was hazelnut. Someone apparently did not appreciate Draco's borrowing of their coffee enhancer; this morning a stern note had been affixed to the jug that read: PERSONAL PROPERTY. DO NOT USE. Draco had crumpled the note and poured an extra bit into his mug for good measure.  _ Sharing is caring _ , he thought.

"Stop being melodramatic, Potter."

The dark head snapped up. "I am not being melodramatic. I just hate speaking in public and I really hate it when they are all… judging me."

Draco rolled his eyes. What did the hero of the bloody world know about being judged? When he was stood before the Wizengamot listening to them rant off a large list of his supposed crimes, then he could talk to Draco about being judged. "Of course they are judging you, prat. You are larger than life and every last one of them would like to see you taken down a peg."

Potter gaped at him. "They… they would?"

"Naturally. It's a normal reaction to celebrity. Don't you look at photos of Quidditch stars or people like Undersecretary Chisholm and wish their clothing would spontaneously combust, or that a rogue Bludger would catch them on the side of the head just as they were beginning their latest self-congratulatory speech?"

Potter's jaw dropped and he looked thunderstruck. "No! No, I do not."

Draco frowned at him. "Oh. Well, perhaps that's just me."

"I don't even know how to respond to that."

Draco waved him away and drank his coffee. "Never mind, then. Just practice your little speech. Perhaps you should read it aloud so that I can critique it."

"Not bloody likely," Potter muttered.

Draco sniffed. "Well, if you don't want my help, don't ask for it. And stop moaning. It's very distracting and I am trying to concentrate."

"What are you reading, anyway?"

Draco waved the book at him. The cover read  Seventeen Obscure Quidditch Rules: Should They Be Banned? What Potter did not know was that Draco had carefully removed the cover the night before and attached it to a Muggle graphic novel he had discovered tucked away in Potter's bookshelf. Graphic novels were  _ amazing _ , even if the pictures never moved. The stories and artwork together were quite exciting and Draco was helplessly hooked by the adventures of the mighty hero and his bumbling sidekick.

Potter had no need to know about Draco's latest obsession. He was already aware of the puzzle thing. On Tuesday night, Draco had descended the stairs to see what Potter had concocted for dinner only to discover a square box sitting upon the table. Inside the box were hundreds of tiny puzzle pieces.

"What is it of?" Draco had asked, fascinated in spite of himself.

Potter had smirked and set Draco's plate on the table. "No idea. You'll have to put it together and find out."

Now the puzzle was already about a third completed and was shaping up to be some sort of starry night scene. Potter had helped on Wednesday night for a short time, but he usually spent his evenings in the kitchen baking or lying on the couch with a book that invariably put him to sleep twenty minutes in.

"Are you really writing a book about Quidditch?"

"Yes, Potter. What are you going to say when the reporters ask if you are gay?"

"Wha…  _ What _ ?"

Draco heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Potter, Potter, Potter." He set aside his Quidditch book-cum graphic novel. "It's obvious, don't you think? We are living together and now we work in the same office. It's a perfectly normal question."

"With a perfectly normal answer, thank you very much!" Potter said in a squeaky tone. His face was flaming.

Draco scowled. "Well, then, your answer will be 'no' and you shall move on." Draco picked up his book again and glared at the page, seeing none of it.  _ Stupid, homophobic Potter _ .

"Do you really think they'll ask?"

"When was the last time you saw your girlfriend? On your birthday? And why the hell hasn't she come round, anyway? Does she hate me enough that she's willing to give you up in order not to see me?" It was a cheering thought and Draco tried not to sound too hopeful at the end.

"Everything is not about you," Potter snapped.

"Well," Draco said and sniffed, "it should be." He picked up his book again and mentally dismissed Potter, who sighed loudly and shuffled his papers. Draco wondered if it were a good or bad thing that he was becoming adept at tuning out Potter's distracting behaviour.

"Draco?" Potter asked and Draco shut his eyes, acknowledging that he could only tune out Potter so far. Direct questions were still attention-grabbing.

"What, Potter?"

Draco waited, but the silence stretched between them until Potter shook his head. "Never mind."

Draco didn't gnash his teeth, but it was a near thing.

oooOOOooo

Harry tried to read over the speech that Kingsley and Hermione had prepared for him. It seemed an utter load of drivel and talked about how he had "seen a need in the community" and wanted to spare the lives of the last group of people still affected by the "lingering evil of Voldemort" or some such claptrap. It was a load of bollocks. Harry cared nothing for the remaining, possibly doomed, Death Eaters still out there hiding from justice. He had only taken on Draco's problem because of… well, because of Draco.

Watching him now, Harry realised he was becoming more fascinated with Draco rather than less. He had expected to find him irritating and assumed he would want to move heaven and earth to find a cure for the curse. The opposite was turning out to be true. It was…nice having Draco around. He was quiet and (despite being naturally sarcastic and opinionated) seldom argued with Harry about anything. Draco was an enigma. He would prattle on, and sometimes even rant, about how much he despised this or that Muggle influence or item, and then spent hours putting together Muggle puzzles and asking Harry where and when they could buy a pair of sunglasses. It seemed like he was trying hard to combat his bigoted upbringing and adjust his way of thinking, even when it did not come easily. The fact that he was even trying impressed Harry.

With that in mind, Harry had hit Hermione up for another Muggle puzzle. It was a moonlit castle scene that Draco would probably finish in a couple of days, so Harry had sent away for several more by mail-order.

Draco's coffee addiction was another surprise. After his first “unacceptable” cup on Monday, he had turned into a veritable coffee guzzler. He demanded several breaks per day in order to walk to the canteen for refills.

Harry glanced up as Draco tipped his mug back and drained his third cup. He set it down and looked at Harry. "Is it possible to make coffee at home?"

"Yeah, of course, it is."

"How?"

"Well, we would need to buy a coffee maker. And coffee, of course. Whole beans and a grinder, probably, since you seem to be turning into a coffee snob."

"And flavoured milk," Draco added.

"Yeah, you should probably stop drinking the stuff you're stealing from the canteen. Someone is going to put a hex on it soon."

Draco wrinkled his nose, although he seemed to be giving the idea some thought.

Harry shoved his speech aside. He was tired of going over it and knew that no matter how much he prepared, he would stand up and say whatever came to mind anyway. He only hoped he could remember enough of the speech to keep from looking like a complete imbecile. As he moved the papers, a file beneath caught his eye and he opened it.

"A fourth robbery of fire agate," he muttered. "It doesn't make sense."

"Someone is probably making Night Vision Potion," Draco said.

"What did you say?"

Draco rolled his eyes and turned the page of his not-quite-Quidditch book. (Harry had discovered the torn remnants of the real Quidditch book on the floor next to Draco's bed. For a Slytherin, he wasn't terribly sneaky, but Harry had to wonder what he was really reading.)

"Night Vision Potion. Fire agate is the primary ingredient. It's also rare. It has to be shipped in from America."

Harry pulled out the other files and read through them quickly, searching for commonalities. To his surprise, he found the connection. "Who would want Night Vision Potion?" he asked, "and why?"

"The same thieves who are stealing the agates, most likely. You might check with Martina D'Antonio. She owns a bilberry farm just west of Kettering," Draco replied, sounding bored.

"Bilberry farm?"

"The second rare ingredient, Potter. Did you pay attention  _ at all _ in Snape's class?"

"You couldn't have mentioned this sooner?" Harry asked, annoyed. "I've been talking about this case for days!" He sent an immediate Patronus to Ron.

"I was not paying attention to your incompetent mutterings," Draco said, "until now."

"Thank you."

"My pleasure," Draco said and preened, apparently not picking up on the sarcasm.

Ron bolted in a few minutes later and listened to Harry's excited rundown. He barely batted an eye when Harry credited Draco for the findings, only shrugged and took up the files.

"I'll go check on this and let you know how it goes."

"Thanks, Ron. Be careful." Harry watched him go and felt a pang. For the first time, he missed being able to Apparate out on the spot and follow up on a potential lead. He glanced at Draco, who watched him through too-knowing grey eyes. Harry forced a smile. "One case down, seven hundred and twenty-two to go."

Draco gave him a half-arsed commiserating look.

oooOOOooo

The press conference was both better and worse than Harry had anticipated. Kingsley had already released the official tale of Harry's "heroics", which was a modified version of events that had led up to his cohabitation with Draco. Kingsley had mentioned only that it was a symbiotic spell that would, hopefully, nullify the curse. The press, of course, wanted specifics.

"Why is close proximity a requirement?" (Sorry, I am not at liberty to disclose details of the spell, as it is still experimental and we do not want anyone else attempting it.)

"Is it dangerous?" (Yes.)

"How does Mr Malfoy feel about living with you?" (You'll have to ask him about that.)

"How does Ginevra Weasley feel about Mr Malfoy living with you?" (You'll have to ask her about that.)

"Are you not concerned about a former Death Eater residing in your house?" (Why would I be?) Harry was particularly proud of that one, especially when the reporter asking had huffed in an angry manner and scribbled something that was probably unflattering.

"What is your relationship with Mr Malfoy?" (We are roommates.) Harry had delivered that reply with a disdainful air that he fully acknowledged had been learned from living with Draco. It had earned a laugh from most of the room.

"There are rumours that Mr Malfoy, as recently as last month, was in a failed relationship with Mr Blaise Zabini. Does Mr Malfoy's sexual orientation have any bearing on the spell, or on your relationship in general?" Harry had been impressed with that question, issued by a grim-faced reporter new to the Daily Prophet staff, according to Hermione. Harry had replied with a curt, "No, it does not" and left it at that. Surprisingly, it was the only question from the group that had brought up Draco's proclivities. Harry had actually prepared himself to hear a blunt, "Are you a homosexual?" but none of the reporters had been so bold as to ask.

Harry was almost entirely certain he would have answered in the negative.

Draco, Hermione, and Ron were waiting for him when he had exited the room full of photographers and press-wolves. Draco actually clapped him on the shoulder. "Excellent replies, Potter. I am almost impressed."

"Almost?" Harry had grinned and loosened his Auror robes. He couldn't wait to be rid of them, partake of a stiff drink, and collapse on his sofa.

"They will twist everything you say and run articles full of speculation and lies tomorrow, of course. But you did the best you could."

Harry blinked at him, more speechless than he had been in front of the reporters.

"Don't listen to him, Harry," Hermione said reassuringly and gave Draco a glare. "It will be fine. Go home and relax."

Draco shrugged and Harry's relief dissipated, scattered by a new fluttering of butterflies in his stomach. He would be awake all night wondering what the net effect would be in tomorrow's papers. "Good idea." Back at the flat, Harry went to his room and divested himself of his clothing.

"Why don't you take a bath and I'll work out something for supper?"

Harry nearly tore one of the buttons from his uniform in surprise.  _ Draco was offering to cook?  _ Harry must have appeared more frazzled than he'd thought. On the other hand, a steaming hot bath did sound good. And Draco hadn't burned down the building last time he'd tried to cook…

"Um… yeah, okay," Harry called down. "Thanks." He stripped down to his jeans and then walked to the bathroom to turn on the water. Draco's mum had sent over a ludicrous quantity of bathing products, so Harry spent some time pulling the corks and sniffing them whilst reading the labels. It was no wonder Draco always smelled nice.

Harry dribbled in a couple of sloshes from two different bottles and sighed happily when purple bubbles filled the tub and a delicious, sweet scent wafted through the air, reminiscent of fresh-baked biscuits. Harry listened for a moment and then left the door open a crack, just in case Draco shouted for him. He shucked the rest of his clothing and stepped into the water, hissing at the heat. It was just a hair shy of too hot but felt wonderful on his aching muscles. It was funny how nervousness could be nearly as debilitating as physical activity.

Harry settled into the bubbles and squeezed one experimentally. It did not pop like a typical soap bubble, instead requiring some pressure to break; when it did, it sent a spray of smaller bubbles into the air. They spiralled upwards, changing colour as they did so. Harry gaped at them, not having seen anything quite like it, even at Hogwarts.

"No wonder he takes so many baths," Harry muttered. He popped a few more amazing bubbles and then settled back into the tub. The water lapped at the underside of his chin and the floating bubbles tickled his cheeks. He sighed in contentment and closed his eyes.

oooOOOooo

Draco listened to the water running upstairs and gave a satisfied nod. Potter had been looking ragged all day. He had certainly been worked up about that press conference nonsense. Draco had never appreciated that Potter was serious about not liking attention. It was a wonder he had made it through the day without having a panic attack.

Draco opened the pantry and took out a loaf of bread. Some of the books in Potter's bookshelf were cookery books and Draco had combed through a fair few. Many of the ingredients were unfamiliar, but the terminology was fairly routine once Draco understood the nuances of using Muggle appliances. He had closely watched Potter operating the cooking device and it seemed simple enough.

The bread sliced easily with a sharp knife and Draco arranged the pieces on a flat baking pan. He thought about the press conference and Potter's responses.  _ Are you not concerned about a former Death Eater residing in your house? _ Draco had not expected Potter's blunt, "Why would I be?" He had not been lying or prevaricating; Draco's former status seemed not to matter a jot to Potter. It was perplexing. By all rights, Potter should have held a grudge towards everyone allied with the Dark Lord during the war, and he certainly should have held personal animosity towards Draco.

Draco sliced a fresh tomato. He remembered the time he and Potter had laughed unreservedly in the café, just before the Naldy/St Mungo's incident. It seemed so long ago now.

He turned on the oven and then double-checked the cookery book to make certain he had chosen the right setting. He still wasn't quite over the sting of allowing the beans to burn the first time he'd attempted to cook. He did not need Potter running down to put out a fire. Although, at the moment, Potter was naked, which caused Draco to look at the temperature control and debate turning it up to dangerous levels just to see a wet Potter bolt down the stairs, hair wild and wand waving…

Draco shook off his fantasy.  _ Stop it, he's straight. Straight. _ Potter was not interested in having an experiment into alternative sexuality, more was the pity. Draco placed the bread into the oven and wondered how he was supposed to check the time without a wand. Potter had a clock on the wall, but it would hardly remind him when three minutes had passed. He sighed and counted the seconds, slicing fresh basil and peppers as he did so. There was a nice selection of cheeses, thanks to his mother, so he chose three and then took the toast from the oven. Perfection. He gave himself a mental nudge of admiration; this Muggle business wasn't so hard.

The vegetables, basil and cheese were quickly added to the toast and then popped back into the oven long enough for the cheese to melt. A sprinkle of fresh parsley completed the meal and Draco shut off the oven before sliding the toasts onto a plate. Potter had stressed that "shutting off" business several times.

Draco almost added a glass of wine, even though Potter was not the biggest wine drinker in the world, but he decided on a bottle of ale instead. The meal was something of a thank-you to Potter, so Draco wanted to do it properly. He put everything on a tray and carried it up the stairs, missing the ability to Levitate. Draco shook off that regret as another foolish longing.

"Potter?" he asked and nudged at the door.

"Hmmm?" There was a splash and it suddenly occurred to Draco that Potter might be wanking. "Oh, come in." Pity; he should have listened at the door first. Potter yawned and pushed himself out of the water a bit. Not wanking then, but falling asleep, it seemed.

"I made you something to eat."

"You brought it to me?"

"I thought you might want to soak a bit longer. It's really bright in here."

"Yeah, I… Thanks." Potter waved his hand and a selection of squat candles on the counter flared to life as the overhead lights dimmed. Draco suppressed a "bloody show-off" comment when he realised Potter was just being Potter.

The tray itself was magical and hovered wherever one placed it, so it remained next to the tub when Draco let go of it. Another spell dried Potter's hands and he reached for the ale and took a long swallow. Draco watched as a dribble of ale escaped Potter's lips, trickled down the side of his throat, and halted in the dip of his collarbone.

Potter's chest was smooth and nearly hairless, gleaming wet, and nicely toned with muscle. One nipple peeked teasingly from the bubbles, only to disappear when Potter lowered his arm. To Draco's dismay, it was pale pink, matching Draco's mental fantasies almost exactly. He had seen Potter shirtless, but never at a close enough range to fix the colour of his nipples into place.

Potter exhaled with a contented sound. "I might have got the water a bit hot. The ale is delicious. And this looks amazing." He shifted in the tub, unfortunately not exposing anything more, no thanks to the purple bubbles, and reached for a toast.

"I will, ah… leave you to it," Draco said and backed away. His mind had helpfully conjured up an image of exactly what Potter looked like beneath the bubbles and Draco's trousers were tightening in an uncomfortable fashion. Thankfully, the lights were dim enough now that Potter wouldn't notice unless Draco spent another minute or two in his presence.

"Thanks," Potter mumbled around a mouthful and Draco fled. He hurried downstairs and sprawled on the sofa, where he pressed a palm to his erection with a muffled groan. Bloody hell, he needed to get laid, which was not looking like a viable option at any time in the near future.  He glanced towards the window. No one could see inside, since the flat was on an upper floor. The Floo, however, was a problem. Draco would normally have waved his wand at it and closed it off for a few precious minutes whilst he wanked, but he had no way of preventing Granger (he shuddered) or anyone else from popping their heads through at an inopportune moment.

Even the thought of Granger did not diminish his erection--much--so Draco got to his feet and hoofed it down the hallway to the small bathroom. It contained only a toilet and sink, so Draco shut the door partway and unlaced his trousers. His cock sprang free and he thought of Potter in the tub, beckoning to Draco and opening his legs… Draco bit his lip and stroked, keeping his stare fixed firmly on his cock, unwilling to meet his own eyes in the mirror. Wanking over Potter was incredibly stupid, and yet… He thought about licking the trail of the ale down Potter's neck and lapping it from his collarbone, and biting hard enough to leave a mark…

He gasped and tightened his hand, stroking hard and fast. He didn't have the time or the inclination to drag this out and it only took a few moments before he was splattering the sink and fixtures with his release.

"Fuck," he muttered and said it again when he realised he would have to clean everything up with water and a cloth in lieu of a simple wand-wave. Bloody loss of magic. He released a heartfelt sigh, picked up a fleece, and turned on the water.

At least the porcelain sink was easier to clean than the sofa would have been.

oooOOOooo

_ Saturday, 6th August, 2005 _

Harry sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and gave Draco's shoulder a shake. In truth, he would rather have tried to awaken a sleeping dragon.

"Draco? I hate to wake you, but…"

"Hmm?" Draco rolled over to face him, features wrinkling with puzzlement. His pale hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions and hanging partially over his forehead. Harry thought he looked bloody adorable, like a sleepy child. "Potter?"

"Yes. Um… you might want to get up now."

Draco's eyes snapped open. "What is it? Has something happened?" His voice was sharp, all somnolent softness gone.

"No! Nothing important."

Draco's chest rose and fell as he heaved a sigh. His lids fell shut over his grey eyes. "What time is it?"

"Just after one in the afternoon. Um, Healer Hildebrand is here."

"What?"

"Routine check-up, she said. She had the afternoon off and thought she would stop by. I thought, rather than make her come back later, that it might be better if I woke you up--"

The blankets flew back and Draco nearly shoved Harry off the bed in his haste to stand. "Indeed. We wouldn't want to inconvenience lovely  _ Tru _ , now would we?"

Harry was taken aback by Draco's words, even though they had been near-growled and there was little danger of them drifting downstairs to where Gertrude waited. "Um… no?" Harry offered, fearing it had been a trick question.

Draco glared at him and unbuttoned his pyjama top with brisk movements. "How long has she been here?" Draco asked.

"About twenty minutes," Harry replied, sidling towards the door. Draco's chest was nearly as pale as his hair. Every line and curve was visible due to the bright sunlight shining outside; the flat reflected the light from nearly every surface. Harry tried not to notice the even paler lines that crossed Draco's torso, marring the perfection of his porcelain skin.

"Twenty minutes," Draco snarled and pulled a jumper over his head, effectively cutting off Harry's view of the scars. "Did she examine you?"

"No," Harry said, surprised at his tone. "I made tea and we talked about the weather for a bit."

"For twenty minutes," Draco said and arched a brow at him. And then he pushed down his pyjama bottoms and stepped out of them. Whatever Harry meant to say next fled from his mind, never to return.

Draco's legs were nothing special. Too-pale, too-thin, long and slender with knobby knees and perfect ankles. Harry's stare drifted upwards, over calves and thighs that were not entirely devoid of muscle, to an arse that was quite deliciously curved. Harry turned and took several quick strides to the door. His face and neck burned and he thought he might stop in the bathroom to splash some icy water upon himself and try to forget that he had just thoroughly checked out Draco Malfoy.

"I'll see you downstairs," Harry said and hurried down the steps where he gave in to his impulse to douse his head by detouring into the small bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror as he shook water droplets from his hair. What was the matter with him? All other factors aside, he was responsible for Draco and could not afford emotional entanglements. They were getting on fine and even seemed to be forging a decent friendship. Harry refused to cock that up just because his libido had decided to sit up and take notice of the fact that Draco was very attractive and Harry was, without doubt, not completely straight if his appreciation of Draco’s beauty had moved beyond simple acknowledgement to borderline lust.

If anything, he needed to turn his attention elsewhere. In fact, that was probably a very good idea.

Draco was already in the living room by the time Harry dried his hair with a spell and put his glasses back on.

"…suffering any ill effects?" Healer Hildebrand was asking.

"No. None." Draco's answers were short and his arms were crossed. He wore a petulant expression and Harry remembered that he did not like her. Despite Draco’s explanation, Harry still could not fathom why. She seemed perfectly lovely.

"Good," she said. "I will draw a couple of vials of blood before I go so that we can continue to monitor and compare what we have previously learned." She turned to Harry. "What about you, Harry?" she asked. "Any noticeable side effects? Even if they seem trivial or unrelated?"

Harry shrugged. "No. I feel great." Better than great, actually. Most of the time he felt energized, and spell-casting had never been easier. He could perform nonverbal and wandless magic almost without thinking about it. He supposed it was a direct result of holding Draco's magic.

"Will you cast some simple spells for me?"

Harry nodded and took out his wand. He Summoned some objects from the bookshelf, Levitated them, and transfigured a book into a ceramic vase and then back again. He performed each spell carefully, making certain he did not overdo them or put too much power behind them. He had noticed the necessity of keeping tighter control on his magic; otherwise, his Light Charms were too bright, his Cleaning Spells too strong.

"Very good," she said. "Any physical signs of change? May I run some diagnostic spells? Just as a precaution, mind you."

"Sure," Harry said and shrugged.

Hildebrand stepped closer and gave him a smile that did not look completely professional. "Can you remove your shirt, please?"

Harry nodded and felt a blush creeping into his cheeks. He did not dare look at Draco, who was probably giving him a sardonic smirk. Harry remembered Draco's earlier comments regarding Hildebrand's breasts. He tried not to notice them now, even though they were definitely prominent…and nearly touching Harry as he moved to take off his t-shirt.

"Why is it necessary for me to disrobe?" Harry asked.

She cast several spells--heart rate monitor, blood analysis, endocrine system diagnosis, and a quick jolt that tested his involuntary reflexes; Harry had been through similar spells so many times in the past that they were old hat--and then she leaned even closer.

"Healer's privilege," she murmured into his ear. "I just like looking at you."

Harry's blush deepened as she moved back with a low laugh. She was very attractive, he acknowledged. He glanced at Draco, whose expression was so icily disapproving that Harry was taken aback.

"Well, you two seem to be doing fine, at the moment," Hildebrand said. "Draco, have you given any thought to what you might do if the reverse-transfer is not successful?"

"What?"

"There is no guarantee that the procedure will be successful. It has not been previously attempted, after all. We are all hoping that this will be a temporary situation, but what will you do if a year passes and the curse is still tainting your blood? What if it does not dissipate, as we anticipate, but simply waits for your magic to return so that it can kill you? How long are you willing to remain powerless?"

Draco opened his mouth as if to snarl at her, to let loose whatever tightly-leashed rage he currently held, but then he simply clenched his fists and gave an elegant shrug before turning away. "As long as it takes, I suppose," he said without inflection.

Hildebrand smiled and shook her head, but then she gave Harry a conspiratorial wink that made him think she was secretly proud of Draco's self-control. Harry warmed towards her even more. "All right, then. If I can just extract some of Draco's blood--yes, I know you hate that, dear. Everyone does. The sooner I have it, the sooner I'll be going."

Draco's jaw worked as he shoved out his arm. Hildebrand cast a quick charm and produced two tiny vials from somewhere. Harry was also familiar with the spell that slit a vein--it was not particularly painful, but enough to be unpleasant. Hildebrand held the vials to Draco's skin and the red liquid filled them quickly. Hildebrand corked them and put them into her robes, then healed the cut with a spell.

"All finished. Thank you, Draco. I will send you any pertinent results." She turned and gave Harry a smile. "And thank you, Harry."

He wanted to ask what for, but instead he just held out his hand. "No, thank you. For coming here." He felt extremely awkward.

She took his hand and squeezed it, then let go and walked to the fireplace. Harry followed.

"Hey, um," he said and mentally kicked himself for being so wrong-footed. "Would you care to join us for dinner tomorrow night? No business-talk, just some food and a glass of wine, maybe?"

Her eyes seemed to appraise him. "I would like that, Harry. Unfortunately, I have to work tomorrow night. I will definitely take a rain check, however." She stepped forward and pressed a kiss against his cheek, and then stepped into the Floo and was gone. Harry grinned, touched his cheek, and turned around--to meet the flat stare of Draco Malfoy.

"What?" Draco asked. "The fuck. Was that?"

Harry blinked at him. "What was what?"

"You invited her to dinner? Did you just ask her on  _ a date _ ?"

Harry swallowed, surprised at the censure in Draco's tone. Harry knew Draco did not like her, but that was no reason to treat her with such rudeness. "Of course not. I was only being polite."

"Polite?"

"Yes. She has done quite a lot for us and she really seems to care--"

"She doesn't care about anything, Potter, you stupid arse."

Harry glared at him. "What is wrong with you?" he demanded. "You have no reason not to like her!"

"Fuck you!" Draco exploded.

Harry threw up his hands. He felt remarkably good after Hildebrand's visit and he did not want to ruin it by fighting with his annoying roommate. Anything that would distract him from his growing attraction to Draco could only be a good thing. "I'm going upstairs until you stop acting like a prat." With that, he stomped up the stairs loudly enough to drown Draco's comebacks, and then slammed his bedroom door.

He flung himself on the bed and thought about Draco's intense dislike of Hildebrand. Frowning, he tracked back over Draco's every interaction with her. What was he missing?

oooOOOooo

Draco watched him go and barely resisted the urge to slam his fist into the nearest hard surface. Fucking Potter! Was he seriously interested in that blonde succubus?

He gnawed at his lower lip for a minute and then walked to the fireplace. He picked up a handful of Floo Powder and tossed it into the flames. He stuck his head inside--sparing a moment of thanks that the Floo worked just as well for Squibs as for wizards--and shouted for Blaise.

Blaise appeared in moments; Draco was almost surprised to see him awake and dressed.

"Draco? What is it? Is something wrong?"

"Yes. No. I don't know," Draco snapped. "Do you know what is happening between Potter and the Weaselette? She hasn't been here once, except with that herd of Weasleys for Potter's birthday, and Potter just spent the past hour flirting with Gertrude Hildebrand. He even invited the cow to dinner. Here."

Blaise scratched his head with one finger and gave Draco a perplexed look. "Gin-Gin and Potter broke up, Draco. How can you not know that if you live with him? Don't you talk at all?"

"Broke up? But…how? When?"

Blaise shrugged. "Not sure. Gin-Gin mentioned it the other day like it was no big deal. Apparently, it was amicable. If you say Potter is behaving normally and is off flirting with other women, then it must be true."

Draco sat back on his heels, nearly breaking the connection. Broke up? So that meant that Hag Hildebrand actually had a chance with Potter. The thought made Draco feel ill. He looked back at Blaise's indistinct features and leaned back in.

"Are you all right?" Blaise asked. "Are you okay with Potter? Really? I've been meaning to drop by again, but I wasn't sure you wanted to see me."

"Most of the time it's fine," Draco said quietly, watching the flames. Despite knowing that Blaise was wrong for him, he felt a momentary surge of regret. Blaise's epiphany had come too late and now Draco was stuck with Potter. Not only was Draco developing an unhealthy crush on him, but now he would be forced to watch him date a woman. Draco felt the clawing hands of depression dragging at him again.

"Hildebrand, eh? Is she the blonde with the huge--?" Blaise made a cupping motion before his chest.

"Yes. If she sleeps with Potter I might be calling you for an Obliviate."

Blaise laughed. "You're crazy. I would pay to watch that. Or join in." He laughed again at Draco's expression. "I'm only joking, of course. That ship has sailed now that I've turned over a new leaf. And don't wrinkle your nose at me. They are both hot. Lighten up, Draco. When did you become such a prude?"

Draco glared at him. "Third year, I believe."

Blaise snorted. "After that scarring incident with Daphne Greengrass, I suppose."

"I think it also cemented my preference for boys," Draco added, softening when he remembered ranting to Blaise and being pulled into a comforting hug on his bed. He had thought, at the time, that he might prefer to have been kissed by Blaise than a half-naked Daphne, but by the time that notion had become an actual preference, Draco had been occupied with events and it had been much, much longer before anything had happened between them. And by then, Draco's naiveté was long gone.

He shook off maudlin thoughts of his past. "Well. Thank you for enlightening me. About Potter."

"Anytime. And, Draco, if you need anything… anything at all, just let me know."

Draco nodded, comforted even though he knew Blaise was self-centred and untrustworthy at heart. He would always be there for Draco, to the best of his abilities, and that would never quite be enough. "Thanks. I'll talk to you later."

Draco broke the connection and walked to the window. Clouds were gathering on the horizon. He supposed he should apologize to Potter and accept the fact that Gertrude Hildebrand might be a regular visitor in the near future. He should; and yet the thought still made him want to put his fist through the glass door.


	15. CHAPTER FOURTEEN - And even more puzzles

_**The one permanent emotion of the inferior man is fear - fear of the unknown, the complex, the inexplicable. What he wants above everything else is safety.** _

_**~H. L. Mencken** _

Draco was seated at the dining table, skimming a cookbook, when Potter came downstairs. He glanced at Draco and looked away, then headed for the kitchen.

"I apologize," Draco said quietly, but with enough volume to be heard.

Potter stopped and turned back, looking surprised. "Excuse me?"

"I apologize," Draco repeated, enunciating every syllable, but keeping emotion at bay. "It's none of my business if you choose to see that blonde… That woman. Hildebrand. Buy the whole cauldron. I do not care."

"Um…wow. Thanks," Potter said.

Draco shrugged, not looking at Potter. He turned another page of the cookery book. Pancakes. What the hell were pancakes? "When can we buy a coffee maker?" he asked, assuming the whole apology nonsense to be finished.

Potter snorted and went into the kitchen. He opened a cupboard. "I don’t know. Today, I suppose. Do you want to go into Muggle London, get something to eat, and then buy your bloody coffee machine?"

"Yes," Draco said decisively and shut the book with a snap.

"You… You do?"

"Coffee, Potter. I have had no coffee today. None. Can you blame me for being testy?"

"You are always testy."

Draco gave him a look and Potter chuckled and shook his head. "Fine. We'll go. But you'll need to wear something less…wizardly."

Draco looked down and smoothed his grey robes self-consciously. "I don't think I have anything Muggle-ish."

"A pair of your dark trousers will work fine. And you can throw a cashmere jumper over a button-down. Just no robes or tunics."

"All right."

"Or you can borrow a pair of my jeans." Potter's smirk was a blatant challenge.

"They won't fit," Draco retorted.

Potter gave him a long, slow look that Draco tried not to misinterpret, although it was difficult. "You're probably right," Potter said finally.

Thirty minutes later, they Flooed to a wizarding pub, and then left the place to join a sparse crowd of Muggles walking in the afternoon sun. The earlier ominous clouds had dissipated, leaving a glorious day behind. Potter took them to a large shop and the glass doors opened when they approached, as if by magic. Draco stared at Potter suspiciously, but no Muggles seemed to have noticed.  The shop contained an assortment of curious items and Draco refrained from asking Potter about them, even though his curiosity was great. They wandered a few of the aisles until Potter gestured to a shelf filled with several coffee-producing devices. The colour selection was dismal. They were either black, white, or--Draco wrinkled his nose--red.

"That one," Draco said after glancing them over. He pointed to a silver carafe model with some curious buttons on the front and a little box that contained glowing numbers denoting the time.

"Of course you want the most expensive model," Potter groused, but he picked up a boxed version below the display. "This one takes whole coffee beans, so we'll need to pop by a coffee shop and purchase some."

"And flavoured milk," Draco reminded him. "Can we get vanilla and hazelnut?"

"We'll need to go to Tesco for that," Potter replied, looking uncertain. "That should be an experience for you."

Draco watched as Potter paid with paper currency--he made a mental note to have Potter teach him all about Muggle money later--and then they returned to the pub to Disapparate. A Japanese restaurant hosted the Apparition point closest to Tesco, according to Potter, and the smell of garlic and ginger made Draco's mouth water. Potter succumbed to his puppy-dog eyes and they sat down for a quick meal before exiting.

Tesco was a marvel. It was filled with Muggles of every sort, from mothers pushing baby-laden prams to bored-looking businessmen, to screaming children that ran through the aisles knocking boxes from the shelves. Draco spent some time trying not to stare at a black-clad teen whose face had been pierced with multiple metal spikes. His hair was a violent purple stripe that crossed atop the centre of his head, and a chain ran from a ring in his nose to one in his ear. He finally glared at Draco, who gave him a polite smile and looked away.

Potter was examining a shelf of small bottles.

" _ Why _ ?" Draco asked when the teen had slouched off.

Potter huffed a laugh. "It's a Muggle fashion. I don't pretend to understand it." He reached for two of the bottles and tucked them into the basket he carried. "Vanilla  _ and  _ hazelnut. Now, let's find the condensed milk. And I need more sugar, the way you've been going through it. I might bake cinnamon buns tomorrow."

Draco pretended not to be fascinated with some of the products on display, but the brightly coloured packages with huge lettering and colourful cartoon figures were hard to ignore. Even though Draco said nothing, Potter must have picked up on Draco's interest in several items; he threw an assortment of biscuits and sweets into the basket prior to paying.

To Draco's surprise, they did not Apparate back to the flat, but instead Apparated to the Leaky and used the Floo there to get back to the flat.

"Wards," Potter explained as he put away their purchases.

"You warded yourself out of your own flat?"

"No, I warded myself  _ in _ ," Potter replied. "The caveat is that I cannot pop in and out at will. But it should prevent accidents. And we usually travel by Floo anyway." He threw Draco a half-grin and Draco looked away to focus on a package of chocolate-covered biscuits, pretending to read the ingredient list. The fact that Potter had taken such care was…touching.

"I think I'll go work on my puzzle," Draco said and left Potter before the urge to say something sappy and inappropriate became overpowering. He wandered into the main room and sat himself cross-legged before the bits scattered upon the floor. Potter had offered to purchase a table for the puzzle, but Draco didn't mind sitting on the floor, oddly enough, once he had persuaded Potter to provide a fluffy, cushioned carpet to rest his arse upon.

The puzzle's castle wall was taking shape and the moon glowed brightly over the turret--that had been the easy bit. The sky would take some time, being varied shades of deep blue.

"Do you want coffee now?" Potter called. "I am going to plug in your coffee maker and see if it works. It makes hot water, too, so we could have tea instead."

"Coffee!" Draco replied and heard a snort of amusement from Potter. He said nothing, however, and soon the sound of grinding coffee beans was replaced with the smell of freshly-brewed coffee. Draco breathed deeply and wondered how he had ever lived without the amazing beverage.

Potter brought him a cup and it was the perfect pale-caramel colour, just the way Draco liked it. He took a tentative sip and closed his eyes as the silken vanilla flavour washed over his tongue. Brilliance. "I think I love you, Potter," he said, and in that moment, he meant it. He opened his eyes and looked up to see Potter's green eyes go wide and shocked-looking. And then Potter laughed.

"You really are obsessed. If I'd known all it took was a few cups of coffee to win your heart, I'd have purchased you a coffee maker at Hogwarts."

Draco wrinkled his nose, knowing Potter was only teasing, but the words warmed him, just the same. "I take it back. I'm not  _ that  _ easy."

Potter chuckled again. "Don't I know it. Want some help?"

Draco budged over and made some room for Potter. They sat in companionable silence for a long time, hunting for puzzle pieces.

_ Monday, 8th August, 2005 _

Harry set aside the seventh cold case file with a sigh. Some of them had so little to go on, either he had nowhere to start looking for more evidence or he could not justify the expense--or manpower--that would be required to dredge up something new.

He glanced at Draco, who had his feet propped on his desk and was busy scribbling into his journal. Harry had no idea what he found to write about. Surely most everything Quidditch-related had already been written? Every so often, Draco would pause to frown and stroke the feathery tip of his quill over his lips. Harry found the habit to be quite distracting. He tore his eyes away and opened another file. It was thicker than most, and contained a number of photos. The contents made him sit up with renewed interest.

"Draco, have you ever heard of 'skin sigils?" Harry asked after examining them.

"I can't say that I have. Why?"

"This case--it's interesting. It apparently involved a spell that was affixed to a mark on the skin, like a brand or a tattoo."

"A tattoo? Like the Dark Mark?"

"Maybe? We know the Dark Mark contained a spell that connected Voldemort to the Death Eaters. He used it as a long-distance communication device, of sorts. But the Department of Mysteries sorted that out long ago. This one seems different, more of a curse. According to one of the Unspeakables at the time, this spell exists as part of the tattoo, but it can be triggered by something unknown and then attack the victim."

Draco's feet fell away from the desktop and he sat up. "Let me see that."

Harry hesitated. He wasn't technically supposed to allow non-departmental personnel access to confidential files. Draco’s features turned into the stone mask that Harry recognized as barely controlling his temper. “A tattoo that attacks the victim? Does this sound not at all familiar, Potter? Merlin, I hope the Aurors at the time at least attempted to locate the mad tattoo artist?"

"Of course, but that would have been simple and the case would have been solved. But, no. This spell was attached to  _ existing  _ tattoos, not newly drawn. There were five victims and no one could find a connection between them, other than the fact that they all had skin markings. The Ministry had thought it was a plague until someone noticed that all of the victims had tattoos. Resultant tests found traces of spell anchors." Harry looked at Draco, who had gone pale.

"What were the symptoms of this  _ plague _ ?"

Harry flipped through papers, half-wishing he had said nothing. He had spoken without fully appreciating the facts of Draco’s case, having forgotten that Draco’s Dark Mark had burned whenever the crippling spell had activated. What if this old case was connected to the curse attacking Draco? What if Draco and his mother had been right and the "illness" was spell-induced rather than a virus or something natural? Had anyone ever bothered to check? Had this case even been referenced when ex-Death Eaters had begun to die? He pulled his thoughts back to Draco’s question.

"Um…fatigue. Random shooting pains. A burning sensation in the extremities. Shortness of breath. Sometimes uncontrollable shaking or seizures. Death caused by organ failure."

“ _ Give me the file _ .”

Glad that Bertram was not around to tattle, Harry Levitated the file over with a flick of his wand.

Draco caught the file out of the air. He opened it and read through the contents, examining each item intently. After long minutes he lifted his eyes to Harry’s. "This happened…  _ thirty years ago _ ?"

Harry nodded. "In the seventies."

"What was happening at the time? With You-Know-Who?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing much. We know he rose to power around that time and started accumulating followers. He was looking for ways to take over, and looking for…things. Things to help him out with his ultimate goal."

Draco looked at him sharply, as if wondering what sort of  _ things  _ Voldemort might have sought, but Harry had no intention of bringing up Horcruxes  _ ever _ . Draco asked, "Do you think this was his handiwork? Do you think he was experimenting? Trying out something to later unleash on those foolish enough to betray him? Could this have been a precursor to the Dark Mark?"

"I don't know. I suppose it's possible." Harry tried to remember what date the first Dark Mark had been documented. Was it before or after this odd case? He jotted a note on a bit of paper to look into it. He thought it unlikely, knowing how obsessed Voldemort had been with Horcruxes at the time. Why bother looking into tattoo magic when he was concerned with eternal life?

"How many died?"

"Five."

"Five people died. From a tattoo-based curse that appeared during the Dark Lord's first bid for power. That doesn't seem suspicious?"

" _ Everything _ was suspicious during that time. I'm sure they checked for that." Harry Levitated the file back into his hands with a snap of his wand.

"You are  _ sure _ ?"

"Maybe not entirely sure," Harry admitted sheepishly.

"And what was the connection between those five deaths?"

"I told you. No connection."

"No connection at all? Doesn't that seem odd?"

"It's not that odd. Some killers… they do things randomly or utilise their own twisted logic."

Draco gave him a disgusted look. “Potter, look at the photos, the way the victims died, suffering for  _ months  _ in growing fear and agony.  _ Just like my father _ . Does that seem random to you?"

"No," Harry admitted.

"Then find the connection."

Harry looked up at Draco’s sharp tone and then looked away. He nodded. "All right."

_ Wednesday, 17th August, 2005 _

Harry flipped through the stack of notes listlessly. It had been over a week since the discovery of the strange tattoo case, but nothing new had come of it at all. Two of the victims had gone to Hogwarts, but they had sorted into different Houses (one Slytherin and one Hufflepuff) and had not appeared to be friends, or even acquaintances, at school. Of the other two, one had remained home to be schooled by his parents and the last had attended Beauxbatons, returning to England as an adult.

They'd all had different jobs scattered across Britain, and there was no evidence of them ever having communicated with one another.

Harry was at a loss.

Draco, thankfully, had said little about the case. He had merely scribbled in his journal and given Harry questioning stares that Harry had ignored.  Harry glanced at him now and reflected on the weekend prior, which had been quiet and relaxing. Draco had cooked, opened packages from his mum, lost himself in books, and worked on his puzzles whilst Harry had soaked in the tub and retired early after poring over the case files. The highlight had been Draco's surprise arriving by owl-post.

"Potter! You bought me sunglasses!" he’d exclaimed.

Harry smiled, remembering Draco's delight. He had tried on each of the six pairs and settled on the ones with dark metal frames and grey lenses that Harry preferred, mostly because he could still see Draco's eyes beneath the lenses. Harry had then been dragged outside for a walk along the canal, mainly so that Draco could be seen with his new eyewear. He had nodded at each Muggle they had passed, visibly soaking in every admiring stare.

The rest of the weekend had been largely uneventful and Draco had spent most of it in his room, scribbling in his journal just as he was now. Harry looked over and watched the end of Draco's quill bobbing.  _ Scratch scratch scratch _ . He couldn't possibly be writing about Quidditch. Harry itched to peek into Draco's journal; he had left it on the edge of the table enough times, or placed it on the floor next to his puzzle. Despite how easily an  _ Alohomora  _ would have disabled the tiny Muggle lock, Harry had resisted the temptation. Draco could write what he pleased. It was none of Harry's business.

"Problem, Potter?" Draco asked, quill halting.

Harry shook his head. "Just thinking."

"Still no connection? Familial ties? Same purveyor of pets? Favored eating establishments?"

"Nothing," Harry replied, although he was certain they hadn’t checked on any pet connections or favorite restaurants. He made a quick note to look into it.

"Ancestral ties?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll try that next. I already looked into their occupations and their schooling. I'll try going back farther. There has to be something. I think you're right about that, at least." He suppressed a sigh. Honestly, the case felt like a wild goose chase. There was no reason the murders could not have been completely random. Such a thing wasn't unprecedented, after all. The victims could have no connection to each other or to Voldemort at all.

Harry thought back to Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher at Hogwarts that had been killed over the Malfoy's dining table. Her death had been completely random; her only crime had been opposing Voldemort's twisted views while being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Attempting to link her death to anyone else's during the war--especially thirty years after the fact--would have been fruitless.

He didn't dare mention such a thing to Draco, of course. And there were the tattoos. Those still suggested a connection, however nebulous.

Draco looked at him through clear grey eyes and Harry tried not to think about Draco during Charity Burbage's death; his white-faced horror and all-too-obvious explicit longing to be rescued from the scene. Bloody hell, they had all been so young. Harry looked down at the papers with renewed determination. If a damned thirty year old unsolved murder case might help them learn more about Draco's curse, then Harry would bloody well find it.

Bertram burst in the door an hour later, looking agitated. "Auror Potter! What do you know about Jeremiah Holmestead?"

"Jeremiah Holmestead?" The name seemed nothing more than a jumble of unrelated syllables.

Ron appeared behind Bertram. "Harry! Holmestead--remember? We were there last spring. The bloke with the mad dogs."

The memory clicked. "Oh right! Holmestead. He was training dogs to attack Muggles. Planned to unleash them on the nearest village…"

"Right, we seized his dogs, but he only got a light sentence. Anyway, he must have found some new animals, because a pack of dogs just went mad in Chelmsford. Didn't Holmestead have a relative there? The name isn't in the file."

Harry stood, itching to Apparate immediately to Chelmsford. "Yeah, he had a cousin there. Name started with a B, I think." Harry pondered, but the only name beginning with a B that came to mind was Bertram. That wasn't it, of course.  _ Think, Harry, _ he told himself.

A silver shape shot into the room and circled Ron once before morphing into a gleaming penguin. "Weasley! We need you! Another pack of dogs was spotted on the south side of Chelmsford! Hurry!"

Harry shot to his feet. Ron pointed at him with a stern expression. "You, stay! Send me a Patronus if you remember anything!" With that, Ron Disapparated.

"Auror Potter?" Bertram asked.

"I'm not working field cases at the moment!" Harry knew his tone was snappish, but he couldn't help it. He gripped his wand and turned to look at the map, seeking Chelmsford. What was the name of that bloody cousin?

"We can go, if you like," Draco said.

Harry shook his head, eyes scanning the web of roads. "No, we can't."

"Auror Potter, you're the best field agent in the department." Bertram sounded confused.

_ Chelmsford, Chelmsford… Bernard? Benning?  _ Harry cast his mind back to his interview with Holmestead. The man had seemed like a harmless country bloke until the word "Muggle" had been mentioned and then he had turned into a veritable hissing bundle of rage.  _ Why? _

"Auror Potter?"

"Get out, Bertram!" Harry shouted. "I am trying to think and I am no longer a field agent!"

Bertram's eyes went huge and Harry regretted his outburst almost immediately. Bertram bowed before Harry could apologize. "As you wish."  The door closed behind Bertram with a snap and Harry mentally kicked himself. It had been stupid to lash out like that, despite the way Bertram's obvious hero-worship tended to grate on his nerves.

"Let’s just go," Draco said. "I promise to stay close to you."

"No," Harry repeated. He took a deep breath and focussed on the map. "No, I won't risk your safety to chase a pack of mad dogs. Ron and the others can handle this."

Holmesford's eyes had burned into him from across the table, Harry remembered. A smug grin had twisted his features. "My cousin thinks the same as me," he had said. "Magic-thieving Muggles ought to be exterminated. Like vermin, they are. My cousin knows. He's a sharp one, is Benton."

Harry's Patronus exploded from his wand so brightly that its light was near-blinding. "Benton," he said and sent it off to Ron. It flashed through the wall and was gone. He hoped the name would help. He wished he could track down Benton himself. Bloody hell, he'd forgotten how much he enjoyed being in the field, firing spells and yelling orders. He longed to cast an  _ Incarcerous  _ at a biting, snarling dog, to dodge flashing teeth and feel adrenaline pumping through his veins as he shouted hexes.

Harry backed away from the wall and sat down in his chair.

"Potter…"

Harry kept his eyes on the map. He could not look at Draco; could not face whatever expression might be revealed there. "What do you want for supper?" Harry asked mildly as he shoved down the foolish need for action. He had to think of what was best for Draco.

The silence was long and tension-filled, but finally Draco said, "Whatever you like."

Harry nodded and turned his chair around slowly. He opened a file and stared at the contents, but it was a long time before he saw any of the words on the page.

_ Friday, 19th August, 2005 _

"The Weasleys are having a get-together tomorrow," Potter said two days later.

Draco looked up from his journal. It took him a moment to shake off the haze of memories surrounding him. He had been recounting the events of his third year at Hogwarts, when Harry Potter and his friends had most definitely been up to something, skulking around at night and acting bizarrely. It was the year Draco's arm had been slashed by the hippogriff, just after Potter's successful flight on the beast. Draco recalled how he had burned with envy. Stupid, bloody hippogriff. He realized Potter had spoken, thanks to his expectant expression.

"Pardon?"

"The Weasleys. They are having a get-together at the Burrow--the home of Arthur and Molly--tomorrow afternoon."

"And?"

"I was hoping we could attend."

Draco's expression gave Potter leave to laugh out loud.

"It won't be that bad."

Of course it would be. Draco could picture it now. The Weasleys would all treat him politely, but coldly, and they would coo over Potter and gossip about people Draco did not know; he would end up sitting alone in a dark corner trying to block them all out whilst they tried to ignore him… It would be beyond awful.  And yet…Potter had given up so much for Draco already. The past two days had been telling, ever since the dog-attack incident. It was obvious Potter was itching to get back into the field. Sitting in an office all day had to be half-killing him. Potter's fidgeting, heavy sighs, and long minutes of staring into space and tapping his quill tip on the desk had increased. Draco had no right to demand even more from him.

"All right."

Potter had already launched into an explanation of why it would be “no big deal” and so on. His words trickled to a halt. "All right?"

"Yes, Potter. We can go and visit your Weasleys even though they loathe me and will most likely hex me the moment your back is turned since I can do nothing to defend myself, but it's fine. I will manage."

"They wouldn't do that."

Draco refrained from rolling his eyes. "George Weasley would."

Potter pursed his lips. "You're probably right, but he won't be there."

Draco relaxed a bit at that news. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad.


	16. CHAPTER SIXTEEN - Family visits

_**Acceptance of what has happened is the first step to overcoming the consequences of any misfortune.** _

_**~William James** _

_Saturday, 20th August, 2005_

It was bad.

Molly and Arthur Weasley greeted Harry warmly, and Draco stiffly, as they stepped from the Floo. Draco tried to remain invisible as he gazed around the cluttered room, taking in the worn furnishings and tatty upholstery. The place was clean enough but packed with a ridiculous amount of bric-a-brac. Photos covered every spare inch of wall space, heralding apparently every moment in the lives of far too many ginger-haired children.

"How is your mother?" Molly asked over her shoulder as she walked towards a room that Draco assumed was the kitchen, judging by the assorted smells issuing therefrom.

"She is fine," Draco replied, trying to remember that tomorrow would be a better day. Potter had agreed to a trip to the Manor, most likely to ease the sting of Draco attending a Weasley function. Draco looked forward to seeing his mother; he worried about her knocking around in the Manor with only the house-elves for company, even though she sent him frequent letters and boxes of sweets.

Potter followed Molly into the kitchen and beckoned to Draco. Arthur brought up the rear of their little train. The kitchen was large and dominated by a huge table. Ron and Hermione were already seated; Draco internally bemoaned the fact that he couldn't refer to Ron as "Weasley" when he was surrounded by so many, and that Potter would probably prefer he call Granger by her first name, as well.

"Hey, Malfoy," Ron said and Granger gave him a nod before asking Molly about the dough that rested upon a flat board near the fire. Molly launched into an explanation of yeast and rising time and a particular brand of flour. Potter looked interested.

"So, Draco," Arthur said, "I hear you are working at the Ministry now."

"I am working _at_ the Ministry, but I am not working _for_ the Ministry."

"Interesting distinction. What are you doing _at_ the Ministry?"

About to retort that he didn’t have much choice if he wanted to live, Draco's reply was halted by Potter's. "Draco is writing a book. About _Quidditch_." Potter stressed the last word as he gave him a look, and Draco knew Potter wasn’t fooled by his near-constant scribbling into his journal. Potter had made it plain he didn’t believe Draco's explanation, but he hadn’t come out directly to ask about the true contents.

"Oh, that sounds interesting," Arthur said and Draco could not determine if he was serious or not. Draco gravitated towards a far corner of the room, pretending interest in a framed painting on the wall that looked to have been made by a child’s handprints.

"Let the festivities begin," someone yelled from the other room, "for I have arrived!"

“Ginny!” Molly cried and hurried to embrace her daughter the moment she stepped into the kitchen. There was much excited babbling as the girl Weasley was ushered in, placed in a chair, and provided with a drink and a plate of biscuits.

Potter leaned over the back of her chair to give her an enormous hug. He pressed a loud kiss onto the top of her head and Molly sighed heavily and shook her head.

“Now, Mum, don’t start,” Ginny said. “Heya, Malfoy. How’s tricks?”

“Fine,” Draco replied and he decided it would be his stock answer for the rest of the afternoon.

Ginny snorted. “That’s not what Blaise says.”

Potter looked at Draco. "You've talked to Blaise?"

"Am I not allowed?" Draco lifted a brow.

Potter flushed. "Of course you are. That's not…"

"Come and sit down," Molly said. "We can eat now everyone's here."

"Where is George?" Ginny asked as she reached for one of the bread rolls in the basket Molly placed on the table.

"Working. He works too hard, the poor dear."

"Molly, this looks delicious," Potter said. He beckoned to Draco, who sat down on Harry's right. To his relief, the others arranged themselves so that no one else was either next to or across from him. On Potter's left sat Granger and then Ron, across the table from Ron was his mother. Next to her sat Arthur and then Ginny, directly across from Potter.

The food was plentiful and, frankly, delicious. The roast chicken was more succulent than any Draco had tasted in fine restaurants, the asparagus crisp and drizzled with lemon, and the potatoes had been baked with butter, cheese, cream, and seasonings until the gods themselves would have wept at the flavour. Draco earnestly complimented Molly upon each dish and he did not think it was his imagination that she began to soften towards him.

"I told you she was a brilliant cook," Potter said and nudged him with an elbow. "Draco has been trying his hand in the kitchen. He reads cookery books."

"You cook?" Ginny gaped at him.

Draco tried not to look discomfited. "No."

"You're getting much better. You already cook better than Ron."

"Hey!"

"What is your Quidditch book about, Draco?" Arthur asked.

"Rules and regulations. It's rather boring, but there hasn't been an updated edition in some time."

"I'll say," Ginny said. "We keep running afoul of Bludger weights because they are unmodified in Abridged Quidditch Rules, 1968 Edition, despite the fact that the bloody laws were revised in 1982 to allow for modifications. That rule was somehow missed during the revisions. It's on the Ministry books, however, so we constantly have to provide official copies signed by the Head of Magical Games, which they ignore." She shook her head. "It's a bloody pain in the arse."

"Ginny!"

"Mum, I am not twelve years old."

"I don't care if you're sixty, Ginevra, there will be no swearing at this table."

Ginny rolled her eyes, although Draco thought only he could see it. She mouthed the word "bloody" and Draco glanced away to suppress a smile. He wondered if Blaise had become a bad influence on her. Talk remained on Quidditch and even Grang--Hermione--chimed in with a surprisingly accurate assessment of the chances of the Tornadoes beating the Magpies in the upcoming match.

"That's really impressive, Hermione," Ginny said.

"It's just facts and figures."

Potter nudged Draco as if to halt him from speaking. "What?" Draco demanded.

All eyes turned to them. Potter cleared his throat. "Um… more juice, Draco?"

"No thank you," Draco replied and gave him a steely look. He had no intention of engaging in heated Quidditch talk with the Weasleys and was perfectly capable of keeping his opinions to himself. He turned back to his meal and the conversation gradually picked up, moving on to familial chatter and talk of Bill Weasley's young children.

"Draco, will you pass the salt, please?" Molly asked.

Draco lifted his hand absently and murmured the usual spell before he remembered himself. To his surprise, the salt floated into the air and zipped into Molly's hand. For a single, heart-stopping moment, he thought his magic had inexplicably returned.

"Thank you, dear."

"My pleasure," Draco murmured through a dry throat as Potter's hand touched his thigh. Potter had saved him without a word or movement. Draco wondered how much Potter's magic had been augmented by Draco's. It was difficult to tell back at the flat where few spells were required.

Potter's hand left his thigh and Draco's tried not to think about how it had felt there.

"Mum, I can't eat another bite. Hey, Malfoy, do you want a tour of the old place?"

"If this is your way to avoid cleaning up, Ronald--"

"Oh, let him skive off, Mum. And it's Draco's first time here so he shouldn't have dish duty, yeah?" Ginny said.

As Draco got to his feet, he realized Ron Weasley, of all people, was helping to keep his loss of magic from the elder Weasleys.

"Harry, I have something in the shed I would like your opinion on," Arthur said as Ron beckoned to Draco. "After we take care of the washing up, of course."

Molly seemed mollified and she waved at Ron and Draco as they left the kitchen for the other room again. "You probably don't really want a tour, do you? And that salt thing, that was Harry, right?"

"Of course it was. You know I don't have enough magic to move a speck of dust."

Ron nodded. "Okay. Good."

"I'll have that tour now."

Ron blinked at him. "All right, but no snide comments, all right? Just keep them to yourself."

"Very well," Draco said, although he allowed himself a single smirk. Ron stared at him suspiciously and then led the way to a rickety-looking set of stairs.

Draco was unwillingly impressed with the way the place managed to stay standing. He had to admit it was held together with an astonishing amount of magic. Despite his age-old harassment of the Weasleys, they were all rather magically talented. He had to cut the tour short before reaching the upper storeys; the bracelet on his arm grew cold and a sharp tingle reminded him that he was stretching the proximity limit from Harry.

"Not much up there, anyway," Ron said as they descended to the living room. Ginny was leaning against the back of the sofa. "Hey, Gin, where's Harry?"

"Out with Dad looking at some Muggle shite he dragged home. Not much like Malfoy Manor, is it, Draco?" She stressed his name and her lips twitched into an almost-sneer.

Draco shrugged. "It is a bit. Oak is as much in abundance there as here, and I see your mother has the same affinity for atrocious floral patterns. Luckily my mother keeps the more tasteless fabrics in her room."

Ginny blinked at him and Ron actually laughed before clapping Draco hard enough on the shoulder to knock him sideways.

"You know, you're not so bad, Malfoy. Who'da thunk?" With that, he disappeared back into the kitchen and Ginny looked at him appraisingly as he rubbed his bruised shoulder.

"Blaise said you were different now," she said.

"Blaise talks about me entirely too much."

"You have no idea." She nodded. "It's always 'Draco this' and 'Draco that' until I actually throw something at him. It's useful to keep a Bludger on my desk, I've noticed. I sometimes think he's a bit hung up on you."

Draco snorted, careful to give no credence to her words. "Blaise will never be hung up on anyone but Blaise."

She lifted a nail to her mouth and gnawed on it, seeming thoughtful.

"Did you really break up with Potter?" Draco blurted even though he hadn't meant to ask, had specifically admonished himself not to ask.

Her eyes narrowed and she stopped chewing her nail. "It was more of a mutual thing. There was no breaking, just sort of…" she waved a hand. "…drifting."

"You drifted apart? Isn't that a bit cliché?"

"Clichés only become clichés when they happen enough to become common."

Draco made a noncommittal sound. She pushed away from the sofa. "Come on. I'll show you where Ron fell off his broom and cracked a tooth when he was twelve."

She led the way back through the kitchen and out the back door. Muted voices could be heard coming from a small shed to one side of the garden. Draco glanced that way and then took in his surroundings. The flowers were disorderly and looked half-wild, but it was obvious they were well-tended. He thought his mother would approve. Ginny showed him a broken fence board and described her brother's traumatic experience with a laugh. Draco pictured the Weasleys racing around the garden, flying on brooms and poking fun at one another. It would have been so very different from his staid upbringing; Draco rarely had playmates as a child. Visits to his friends' houses were generally confined to boring social events where they were forced to dress nicely and sit still. Nothing at all like the riotous childhood the Weasleys would have experienced, with cracked teeth and skinned knees.

He fought off a wave of nostalgic loneliness. "It must have been pleasant, growing up here."

She stared at him as though he had morphed into someone else. "Yeah. Yeah, it was. Look! A gnome!" She bounded after it, laughing, but it dove into a thick shrub and disappeared. She threw herself on the grass and sprawled on her back, looking up at the puffy white clouds overhead. London had been gloomy and wet, but here the weather was perfect. He frowned at his dark trousers and then decided he could send them off for cleaning if they became grass-stained. He sat cross-legged next to her and turned his face to the sky, searching for creatures amongst the clouds.

"I love Harry," she said. "I think I've always loved him, from the moment I saw him as a child. He was so handsome. Still is, don't you think?"

He looked at her sharply, but her eyes were still fixed far above.

"Yeah, he's fit," she went on, obviously not expecting a response. "And he loves me, too. I know he does, but sometimes I think he loves me more for my familial connection than because I'm a beautiful girl. Although I am that and don't think he was never attracted to me because he very much was." She did look at him then, eyes blazing. Draco smirked but did not bother to deny it. "Anyway, neither of us wanted to do the whole marriage-baby thing, no matter how much Mum pushed for it. Godric, can you see me with an infant?" She pulled a horrified face and mock shuddered. "And there are more than enough Weasleys, thank you very much, although…there aren't any other Potters." She looked back at the sky. "But that was not a very good reason to tie someone into a relationship that sometimes felt mediocre, don't you think?"

Draco frowned and wondered how a life with Potter would be. Somehow he could not envision it being _mediocre_ in the least. "I suppose not."

"Look!" she cried and pointed. "A tiny dragon! See its wings?"

Draco squinted upwards. "It looks more like a deformed Cupid to me."

Ginny giggled. "You're such a prat, Malfoy."

"Then why are you talking to me?"

"I don't know. Sometimes it's nice to behave like a grown-up, don't you think?"

"That's a bit ironic coming from someone lying in the grass looking for cloud animals."

"Don't knock it until you've tried it, Malfoy."

The note of challenge in her voice spurred him to lie back, resting his head on his crossed forearms. He scanned the sky. "There," he said and pointed, "a giraffe." To his surprise, the silly practice was rather relaxing.

A few minutes later a shadow passed over him and Potter's face blocked the clouds. His mouth was twisted in a crooked grin. "Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?"

Draco lifted a hand. "Silence. You saw nothing. And help me up."

They clasped hands and Potter tugged until Draco was standing. Potter's eyes seemed greener than usual under the bright blue sky, although it might have merely been their proximity. Draco quickly released Potter's hand and turned away before Ginny could comment on it.

"Are we leaving?" Draco asked.

"Yeah, if you're finished looking for cloud unicorns."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Potter chuckled. "Of course not. Bye, Gin."

Ginny raised a hand lazily. She seemed half-asleep. "Bye, Harry. Later, Malfoy."

Draco bid her farewell and followed Harry back into the house. It was early evening, but Draco was tired; likely a combination of the rich food and the stress. They bid the elder Weasleys goodnight and Molly pressed a wrapped parcel into Draco's hands; he had been far too full to taste the berry tart so she'd sent a slice home with him. Potter kissed her on the cheek, sparing Draco the awkwardness of trying to express gratitude.

The moment they stepped from the Floo into Harry’s flat, Draco headed for the hallway, intending to climb the stairs and lie down for a nap.

"Hey, Draco."

He stopped and glanced back at Potter.

"Thanks for coming today. It means a lot to me."

Draco gave him a weak smile. "It… wasn't terrible. And you're welcome."

Potter grinned and Draco went upstairs. He climbed into bed and dreamt of cloud beasts with green eyes and black hair.

_Sunday, 21st August, 2005_

They Flooed to the Manor without sending a message ahead. Draco had insisted his mother would be home and would not be averse to a pleasant surprise. A house-elf popped in to meet them and Draco asked for directions to his mother. The house-elf shot a glance towards Harry before replying. Harry followed Draco through the huge, empty house and he was glad when they encountered no rooms that he recognised. Their footsteps echoed and Harry wondered how Narcissa felt about being alone in the enormous old place, house-elves notwithstanding.

Double doors were open to a large room lined with books; heavy curtains had been drawn aside to admit the midday light. Two women sat upon a velvet-upholstered sofa, holding teacups and talking quietly. Harry had only a moment to blink at them in surprise before an ear-splitting shriek caused him to wince. "Uncle Harry!" A small shape hurtled across the room and attached itself to Harry's legs.

Draco watched him as Harry patted the dark head. "Hello, Teddy. Andromeda. Narcissa."

Andromeda rose and hurried forwards to embrace Harry, taking care not to crush Teddy between them. The boy had not released Harry's legs and his cheek was pressed firmly to Harry's navel. "Harry, how lovely to see you. It's been too long."

Harry flushed, feeling guilty. He should have made a point to visit Teddy more often; after all, the boy was his godson, practically his responsibility. "I'm sorry. I need to visit more frequently."

"Nonsense. You are a busy man. We do miss you, however."

"Yes, Uncle Harry, we miss you lots and lots!" Teddy chimed in.

"I miss you, too, Teddy. And here we all are. At the Manor." Harry gave Andromeda a curious stare. As far as he knew, Andromeda had never reconciled with Narcissa; at least, she had never mentioned it. Draco had greeted his mother and seated himself next to her.

"Welcome, Mr Potter. To what do I owe this unexpected visit? Is everything all right?"

"Everything is fine, Mother. I just wanted to see you."

Narcissa put down her teacup and hugged Draco at that. He only looked mildly uncomfortable and Harry smiled.

"Harry come and see my pictures!" Teddy shouted and grabbed his hand.

"Teddy, please lower the volume," Andromeda said.

"Sorry." Teddy's voice went quiet, but he tugged more sharply at Harry's hand. Harry allowed himself to be led across the room to a patch of sunlight on the floor. Several pieces of parchment and multiple coloured markers lay in the lighted area. Harry sat cross-legged on the wooden floor whilst Teddy showed him drawing after drawing, mostly of large circles with a variety of attached claws, fangs, and wings. Teddy's hair went from dark brown to a vibrant lavender shade.

"You need not sit on the floor, Mr Potter."

"It's no bother," Harry said and admired Teddy's hippogriff, which had several more eyes than necessary and fangs sprouting from its beak.

"That one breathes fire," Teddy explained. "It's part dragon."

"A hippodragon. Very scary."

Draco, Narcissa and Andromeda began to discuss fashion, of all things, and Harry found himself understanding Teddy's fantastical images better than their talk of fabric, stitching, and which wizarding tailor was the finest.

"I haven't been shopping for fun in years," Andromeda said and that made Harry sit up and take notice.

"That is absolutely dreadful," Draco declared.

"Indeed. I would love to take you to Isabeau's new boutique in Actu Alley. She sells the most adorable shoes," Narcissa added.

"Why don't you, then?" Harry asked.

"Excuse me?"

Harry stood. "Take Andromeda shopping. Draco and I can mind Teddy for the afternoon. Can't we, Draco?"

Draco stared at him as though he had turned into another incarnation of Voldemort, but then he nodded and recovered his aplomb. "Of course. Of course, we can. You two should spend some time catching up, Mother."

"Are you certain, Harry? Teddy is a bit of a handful, at times."

"All the more reason to give you some time to yourselves. Teddy, would you like to come to my flat?"

Teddy leaped to his feet and danced up and down. His hair changed colour every time his feet hit the floor. "Oh yes! Can I? Can I? Can I?"

"May you," Andromeda corrected. "And yes, you may."

"Yaaaaay!" Teddy threw himself at Harry again and squeezed tightly. Harry laughed.

It did not take long to bustle all of Teddy's art supplies into his elephant-shaped knapsack and then they were holding hands and Flooing back to the flat.

"Sorry to have cut your visit short," Harry told Draco as Teddy ran to the windows to press his face against the glass.

Draco shook his head. "Not at all. I worry about her being alone in the Manor. I know she has wanted to reconcile with her sister. It's good she finally buried her pride and did so. They have much to mend."

"And you don't mind Teddy being here for a bit?"

"Can I-- May I go outside, Uncle Harry?"

"Not right now, Teddy. But you can go upstairs if you like and look out the windows from Draco's loft." He gestured upwards.

"That's totally awesome!" Teddy bellowed. He raced down the hall and thundered up the stairs. Harry pulled out his wand and cast an invisible barrier that would keep Teddy from toppling over the railing if he got too close to the edge.

"I don't mind," Draco said and chuckled. "He is certainly full of energy."

"Weren't you at that age?"

Draco sniffed. "Certainly not. I was perfectly well-mannered."

"I'll bet." Harry snorted in disbelief.

"What about you?"

"I was…" Harry broke off, not wanting to think about it. He had been well-mannered to a fault, due to any hint of exuberance being punished with banishment to the cupboard beneath the stairs. Teddy pounded back down the steps. Harry cringed and hoped he wouldn't trip and break his neck.

"Are you hungry?" Harry asked when Teddy slid to a halt in his stocking feet. Harry decided not to ask where his shoes had gone.

"Do you have biscuits?"

"No, but we can make some."

Ten minutes later, Harry was sifting flour into a bowl and Teddy was holding two eggs. Draco had sprawled on the sofa with a book. Not long after that, Teddy and Harry munched on soft ginger biscuits warm from the oven. Harry asked, "Would you like to take some to your cousin Draco?"

"What's a cousin?" Teddy asked around a mouthful.

"A relative. Your grandmother and Draco's mum are sisters, so that makes Draco your cousin."

Teddy's eyes grew wide, but then he moved closer to Harry and whispered, "I don't think he likes me."

"Of course he likes you, especially if you take him biscuits. Try it and see."

Teddy bit his lip and his hair turned a peculiar shade of dark blue, but he nodded as Harry stacked a number of biscuits onto a small plate. Teddy took it, gave Harry one more pleading look, and then entered the living room. Harry lurked near the archway to witness the exchange. Draco glanced up from his book as Teddy approached, moving almost glacially slowly. Teddy muttered something and Draco carefully marked his page and set the book aside. He reached out his hands and Teddy moved faster, handing him the plate.

"Thank you, Teddy. These look delicious. Did you really bake them yourself?"

"Yes! Um… Uncle Harry helped."

Draco bit into a biscuit and closed his eyes with a sound of pleasure. "Amazing," he said after a slow chew and swallow. "Perhaps you could become a baker when you grow up."

Teddy plopped onto the sofa next to Draco. "No, I am going to be an Auror like my mum and Uncle Harry."

"Are you?" Draco asked and took another bite.

"What do you do for a job? My grandmum doesn't have a job except to look after me and she says that is a full-time job that needs two people and sometimes four."

Harry winced at that, knowing that he should have been one of the two…or four.

"My job is… Well, I suppose right now I am a writer."

Teddy wrinkled his nose. "That's boring."

Draco laughed. "Yes, I suppose it is."

The timer buzzed then and Harry left the doorway to retrieve the next batch of biscuits. When he finished transferring them to a cooling rack, he turned to find Teddy behind him.

"Can we go for a walk, Uncle Harry? Cousin Draco says it will be fun."

"He does?"

"Yes. He went upstairs to put on Muggle clothes. Are we going out where Muggles are? Grandmum usually makes me wear a hat because my hair sometimes turns colours, but it's too hot for a hat. Can I not wear one if I promise to keep my hair boring brown?"

"Draco went upstairs to put on Muggle clothes?"

"I already said that!"

"So you did. I suppose you don't have to wear a hat if you're very careful, although it is quite bright outside and you might want one just for the shade. I have several nice caps and I think one even has a Batman symbol on it. Do you want to go and look at them, just in case?"

Teddy frowned. "I do like Batman. Grandmum took me to the movies and he has the best car ever! It shoots flames and can even fly!"

Harry turned off the oven and escorted Teddy upstairs to examine Harry's cap collection. Harry cast a curious glance at Draco's closed door, wondering what in the world Draco would find to wear. He had received a few mysterious packages from Blaise and Pansy, but Harry doubted any of those had contained Muggle items.

In the end, Teddy decided the Muggle Batman cap was acceptable and Harry traded his own high-collared button-down (worn expressly for the purpose of impressing Narcissa Malfoy) and dark trousers for a Heineken t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. Teddy's plain blue shirt was slightly too formal for an outdoor Muggle adventure, so Harry shrank one of his own t-shirts and gave it to the boy. Andromeda had dressed Teddy in short pants that would not have looked out of place at a Muggle boarding school, but once Harry had removed the fancy bows that tied beneath Teddy's knees, they could pass for more casual Muggle shorts.

"I think that will do," Harry said finally and added a cap to his own head. It was navy blue with a large yellow smiley-face that declared "Have a Nice Day!" Draco had made fun of it more than once while declaring that he would have whatever sort of day he chose, thank you very much.

Teddy hopped down the stairs, landing on each riser with both feet and making as much noise as possible. Draco stood in the living room, sunglasses in place over his eyes, and Harry stopped short, staring.

"What…are you wearing?" he asked through a mouth gone dry as the Sahara.

Draco sat on the sofa and began to lace up a pair of what looked to be Muggle hiking boots. "I had Blaise purchase some items for me. He owed me," Draco replied. "These boots are acceptable, are they not?" It was not the boots that had captured Harry's attention, but rather the long, pale expanse of Draco's legs visible beneath the high hemline of the ragged Muggle shorts. Draco paused in his tying to look up. "Potter?"

Harry dragged his stare down to the boots. "Um. Yeah. Yeah, those are great. Acceptable. Whatever. Blaise bought you those shorts?"

Draco finished tying and got to his feet. His legs were ridiculously long, Harry noted, and fit. One "fashionable" slit in the fabric showed a glimpse of hipbone. "Yes, the same ones we saw in the shop. I must admit, they fit rather comfortably. And they make my arse look amazing, don't you think?" Draco pivoted and turned and cocked his head over a shoulder as if to catch a glimpse of his own arse and Harry could only stare and nod. The rear view was even more astounding--the denim hugged Malfoy's arse like a second skin and they were almost too short. Harry thought Blaise might have picked up the feminine version by mistake. "They are somewhat tight in the front, however," Draco continued. He started to turn and Harry fled to the kitchen, knowing he would never be able to witness that sight without betraying himself. His face and neck burned with heat and he thought about dunking his head under the sink faucet to cool off. Instead, he picked up a kitchen towel and fanned himself wildly.

"Let me make sure the cooker is off so the flat doesn't burn down while we're out!" he called and then tried to ease his voice back down to a more normal range. Bloody hell, Draco Malfoy in Muggle shorts; Harry wasn't sure he would survive. By the time Harry had checked every fictitious potential danger in the kitchen, his flush had diminished and he felt more in control of his libido. Teddy was bouncing loudly at the front door.

"Come on, Uncle Harry!"

"I'm ready!" Harry replied with a laugh and joined them at the door. He kept his attention fixed on Teddy, locking the door, the stairs leading down to the ground floor, anything at all other than Draco Malfoy.

The weather was almost too warm and each patch of shade they reached as they walked along the canal became a relief. Despite the heat, the pathway was busy with Muggles. Would-be athletes jogged past, panting loudly and red of face; couples of all ages walked hand in hand; and mothers walked more slowly, pushing covered prams as they chatted with spouses or mates.

"Can I play in the water?" Teddy questioned, looking longingly at the sluggish canal waters that eddied past.

"Absolutely not," Harry said. "That water might look cool and inviting, but it's full of bacteria and disease."

"What's bacteria?"

"Invisible monsters that eat your brain and cause you to go crazy and die," Draco said before Harry could reply.

"Draco!"

"Well, it's true, is it not?"

Teddy was staring at him with eyes wide and fascinated, so Harry reluctantly nodded. "Sometimes, yes. Others just make you really sick. Or itchy."

"Does all water have bac-tea-ree?" Teddy asked.

Unwilling to divulge the type and amount of bacteria found in everyday drinking water, Harry pointed ahead on the path. "Look! Is that a peacock?"

Teddy, instantly distracted, bolted ahead and scared up a small flock of birds that had unwisely landed near the path. Teddy roared and jumped at them and they took off with a loud flapping of wings. A feather floated to the ground and Teddy pounced on it. "Is this a peacock feather, Uncle Harry?'

"No, I think that's a pigeon feather."

"Nicely played," Draco said next to Harry, who glanced over at him. The grey sunglass lenses had gone dark in the sunlight and Draco's eyes were invisible.

"Thank goodness he is easily distracted."

Draco smirked and nodded. Harry noticed several Muggles, both women and men alike, giving Draco admiring stares as they jogged or strolled past. Draco was definitely aware of the attention and he preened when he said, "I look good in Muggle clothing."

Harry snorted, unwilling to feed his ego. "Are you certain they aren't just amazed at the ghost-white paleness of your skin?"

"I know lustful stares when I see them, Potter."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

Draco's answering smile, albeit smug, made Harry laugh again. He decided it was a beautiful day. After their walk (a short loop over the bridge, through the half-wild park, and back again) took much longer than usual with Teddy pausing to look at every interesting item, and Harry was knackered when they returned. He decided on simple grilled sandwiches and crisps for an early dinner.

He heard Teddy and Draco talking as he prepared their meal and when he walked out to ask Teddy whether or not he preferred cheese he found them both on the sofa with Teddy snuggled up close to Draco. His hair was blue and he was enraptured with a picture book Draco was reading aloud.

"I like that one!" Teddy said.

"What is that, then?" Harry asked.

"The History of Quidditch, of course," Draco replied.

"I should have known. Cheese, Teddy?"

"Yes, please, Uncle Harry, unless it's that nasty white stuff. Orange cheese only."

"Orange cheese, it is." Harry retreated back to the kitchen and sliced the cheddar.

As it was a "special occasion" they decided to eat on the tiny balcony and watch people walk in the park. Harry Transfigured a third chair for Teddy and they ate with their plates in their laps. The afternoon sky was brilliant with hints of a gorgeous sunset to come.

"Teddy, stop throwing your crisps over the railing. You're going to hit someone walking below."

"It won't hurt them."

"I know, but how would you like it if you were walking along and a crisp fell into your hair?"

"I would think it was raining crisps! That would be amazing!"

"Well, don't do it anyway." Harry gave him a stern look and Teddy pouted and moved closer to Draco, but was soon distracted by a flock of crows chasing a hawk over and amongst the trees in the park. Harry collected the dishes and went back inside to set the kitchen to rights. He heard Draco and Teddy come in a short time later.

By the time he finished tidying up and returned to the living room, Draco and Teddy had sprawled out on the sofa and were idly flicking through the Quidditch book again. Ten minutes later, they were both asleep.

Harry got up and eased the book from Draco's limp fingers with a soft smile. He admitted, just for a moment, that they were both adorable. So adorable his heart ached with it. He went upstairs and sent Draco's owl off to Andromeda with a message to take her time and not feel she needed to rush back. Then he went back downstairs and settled in with the tattoo case file, sneaking only occasional glances at the sleeping lads. There had to be something in the files he was missing.

When Andromeda arrived just past nine o'clock, Teddy didn't even stir when Harry picked him up and placed him into her arms. Her thank you was heartfelt and Harry assured her that they would happily look after Teddy anytime.

Draco hadn't stirred, either, and Harry carefully covered him with a blanket and impulsively smoothed the pale hair away from his brow, just for a moment, before murmuring, "Goodnight, Draco," and making his way to bed.


	17. CHAPTER SIXTEEN  - Investigation

_**The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul on fire.”** _

_**~Ferdinand Foch** _

_ Monday, 22nd August, 2005 _

"No wonder you can't find a connection. The bloody Aurors did a shoddy job of research. Were they all drinking psychedelic potions in the seventies?"

Potter nodded. "Possibly. Luckily, we have Bertram. I think I will send him off to the Auror Department to request some more information. They'll send someone out or he'll annoy them half to death."

"Good. It will be nice to see him doing something other than fawning on the Chosen One and wishing for my demise." Draco was dubious about that. He didn't trust Bertram to bring back an accurate shopping list, much less persuade a busy Auror to go out and dredge up some ancient history on a long-dead murder case.

Potter had scribbled a list of missing items.  _ Where were the victims born? Where did they spend their childhoods? Is there any connection between their parents or grandparents? Could the murderer have been someone with a grudge against their parents or was it specific to the individuals?  Motive. _

Potter had underlined the last word three times.

Draco sighed and put the papers back into the file. They could not do much more with it until someone returned with more information. At the moment they were at a dead-end. There had been no connection between the tattoos. Each of the victims had different tattoos received at different times in their lives and applied by different artists.

The very thought of tattoos made Draco's Dark Mark itch, although he hadn't felt a twinge from it since the transfer. Despite his lack of magic--or perhaps because of it--he felt rather good. He was even beginning to think he wouldn't mind living as a Muggle, if it became absolutely necessary. At least, it was easy to believe that when Potter wasn't Levitating every item on his desk as a way of helping him think.

"What are you doing?" Draco demanded.

Potter's ink bottle, quill, photo frame, and apple crashed back to the desk. The glass stopper rattled in the ink bottle. He looked at Draco guiltily.

"Sorry. I was distracted."

Draco harrumphed. Potter got distracted and wandlessly caused items to flit around in the air above his desk. It probably wouldn't be as annoying if he wasn't using half of Draco's magic to perform his feats. Draco frowned. No, that was wrong. It would be just as annoying. Draco was feeling peevish towards Potter; the prat had left him to sleep on the sofa in his Muggle clothes the night before. Draco had awakened at two o'clock in the morning feeling stiff and uncomfortable.

Bertram popped into the room without knocking, the bloody asshat. His eyes went straight to Potter, as usual.

"There is a visitor to see you, Auror Potter. Her credentials check out."

"Um, okay," said Potter eloquently. Draco gave him a stern look. They would need to have a talk with Potter about exerting more authority. Honestly, the man was pathetic. He could have been Head Auror by now with a bit more assertiveness. Possibly even Minister.

"Send her in," Draco said to show Potter how it was done. Bertram sent Draco a glare.

"Yes, please, send her in," Potter said. "And, Bertram, could you please drop this file off with Ron--Auror Weasley--and ask him to see me if he has any questions."

Bertram grabbed up the file and nodded profusely. "Absolutely, Auror Potter. I'll do it right away." He gave Potter a half-bow and one final worshipful look before exiting.

"I really hate him," Draco commented.

"Oh come on. He's not that bad."

"He is, Potter. He really is." About to rattle off a list of reasons why Bertram was insufferable, Draco's words died in his throat when Healer Hildebrand walked through the door. Instead, he wondered why he had bothered to get out of bed that morning; if he'd just pulled the blankets back over his head and refused to rise, Potter would not have had a choice other than to call off sick.

"Tru!" Potter said and got to his feet to hurry forwards and take Hildebrand's offered hand. "How nice to see you."

Draco suppressed a snarl with difficulty.

"I hope you don't mind the intrusion, but I was dropping off some notes and thought I would pop in to invite you--and Draco, of course--to dinner this evening. I have a rare night off."

"D… dinner?" asked Potter.

Time seemed to stand still for Draco and he visualised a tortuous evening spent sitting at a table with Potter and the evil doctor making cow-eyes at one another whilst Draco was trapped, unable to escape, trying to choke down substandard tiramisu…

"No," Draco said, "we are busy."

Potter's green gaze shot to him. "Busy?"

"Yes. We have that…thing to do tonight."

Potter's lips pursed, attractive, but dense. "Thing…?"

Draco shook his head. He stared into Potter's eyes, trying to visually impart the concept that Draco had no intention of going to the home of Gertrude Hildebrand and spending an absolutely wretched evening watching her flirt with Potter; honestly, even an idiot should have been able to pick up Draco's resistance to the idea.

"Um...perhaps another time?" Hildebrand offered uneasily.

Draco nodded. "Yes! Another time. Any other time, possibly a few months from now; perhaps eight. Or nine."

Potter frowned. "Draco, really. No, Healer Hildebrand--Tru--we are not doing anything this evening, and have no plans at all."

She shot another dubious look at Draco but then nodded. "Thank you. So, you'll be coming to dinner, then? I plan to invite Abigail so it won't be quite so…well." She gave Potter a toothy smile and he laughed. Draco's irritation level rose.

"We'll be there," Potter promised. "What time?"

"How about eight o'clock? I’ll owl you the address and I'll have the Floo open for you."

"Brilliant."

"Until this evening, then. Goodbye. Draco." She nodded to him and he gave her a haughty glare before turning back to his papers.

"Bloody hell, do you have to be so rude?" Potter asked the moment the door shut behind her.

"Yes, I do. Thank you for making snap decisions that affect my life without even asking my opinion. Bloody dictator."

"Oh come on. It's only dinner. You act like I'm leading you to sacrifice."

"I don't like her."

"And I don't like Parkinson, but if you suggested going to dinner at her place, I certainly wouldn't refuse."

Draco blinked at him. "You wouldn't?"

"Of course not."

Draco drummed his fingertips on the desk. It might be an act of fitting revenge if this little dinner party of Hildebrand's went pear-shaped. Pansy could invite Theo and some ex-Slytherins and they could all torment Potter for an evening. He sighed. But first Draco would have to endure the company of Gertrude Hildebrand and Abigail Barnes whilst Potter and Hildebrand fawned upon one another.

"What are your thoughts on this case?" Potter asked, Levitating a file onto Draco's desk in a blatant attempt to change the subject.

Draco shot him a pointed look but magnanimously opened the file. "I don't care about your damned cases," he said. He scanned the contents with cursory attention. One thing was certain, Draco would need his wits about him if he was to keep Potter from succumbing to Hildebrand's wiles. _For his own good, of course,_ Draco told himself.

oooOOOooo

  
  


It was small comfort to Draco that Abigail Barnes looked as bored and uncomfortable as he was. He had previously seen her clad only in the white and lime green healer's robes, so it was a bit of a shock to find her dressed in teal-coloured, almost-stylish robes. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, as usual, but it was looser than normal, with soft tendrils falling around her face. She looked almost attractive, except that her lips were stretched into a flat line and her attitude made it clear she would rather be elsewhere, probably home feeding her dozens of cats if the pale-coloured hairs decorating her robes were an indication.

Potter and Hildebrand were in the kitchen and the sounds of their merry conversation reached Draco in the hallway, where he had paused to sneer at a photo of one of Hildebrand's forebears, an attractive matronly woman in dour robes. Her chest was even more impressive than Hildebrand's. The woman glared back at him from the frame.

Draco had only stopped to look at the photo to avoid continuing into the kitchen to witness Potter's pathetic attempts at flirtation. Draco scowled at the thought. Barnes had stopped with him, possibly for the same reason.

"Who are you?" the woman in the painting demanded.

"Draco Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" The woman's painted nose wrinkled. "Spawn of that horrid Abraxas Malfoy?"

"He was my grandfather," Draco replied. "And who are you?"

"Esther Hildebrand," Barnes replied, sidling closer to Draco. "Famed healer."  The woman tipped her head towards Barnes and smiled. "Nice to see you again, Apprentice Healer Barnes. Or is it Healer Barnes now?"

"Still an apprentice, I'm afraid."

The woman made a clucking sound. "Never mind that. I'm sure you'll get there soon enough with Tru's guidance."

"I'm sure you are right. Thank you, madam."

"You haven't taken up with this wicked boy, have you?"

"No, madam."

Draco's eyes narrowed. His fingers itched to pull out his wand and show the nasty woman just how wicked he could be. The knowledge that it was not an option was almost dizzying in its potency. Most of the time, with Potter, Draco barely noticed his inability to use magic, but in the company of others…

The painted woman cocked her head at Draco. "There is something off about you. What is it?"

Unwilling to discuss his loss of magic with a bloody painting, Draco shook his head and turned to Barnes. "Who do I need to kill to get a drink around here?"

Barnes' blue eyes blinked at him for a moment and then she apologized to the dead healer whilst Draco stalked into the kitchen. Hildebrand was standing far too close to Potter and he was laughing. She had been speaking in a low voice, but her words broke off the moment Draco appeared. She moved away from Potter.  "Anyway," she said brightly and turned to a pan full of sizzling vegetables, "do you like asparagus, Draco?"

"No," he replied and gave Potter a measuring look. Potter glanced at him and then away. His cheeks were red. "Where did you get that glass of wine, Potter?"

"We brought it, remember?"

"I will have a glass, at once."

Potter snorted. "Yes, your majesty." He opened a cupboard door, as if he'd been in Hildebrand's kitchen a dozen times, and took out a wine glass.

"Abigail!" Hildebrand yelled. "Would you like some wine?"

"Fine."

Potter placed another wineglass on the counter as Barnes entered the kitchen. "Wine for everyone," he said.

"And keep it coming," Draco muttered.

Potter gave him a look but said nothing before handing Draco the half-full glass. Draco took a drink and found it to be a substandard vintage--they had located it hidden away in Potter's pantry--but he kept quiet lest Potter give him another warning glare. He supposed there was little to be gained by antagonising Potter, and it might even give him a reason to turn to Hildebrand for sympathy. The thought burned more potently than the wine.

Dinner was hell. Draco would have rather spent every future meal with the Weasleys than endure another minute of Hildebrand leaning across the table to lightly touch Potter's fingers as if he couldn't comprehend her flirting tone without physical contact. Her stories were interesting enough, ranging from ridiculous happenings at St Mungo's to silly anecdotes about her childhood spent in Cornwall. Potter seemed riveted.

"What about you, Harry? How did you spend your summers?"

Draco glanced sidelong at Potter, not missing the sudden tension that gripped him. It was barely noticeable, but Draco seemed to be getting better at picking up Potter clues; his spine had straightened minutely and his fingertips whitened on the wineglass he held. Draco was curious; he'd heard rumours about Potter's horrible Muggle family, but there were so many stories about the Chosen One that it was sometimes hard to separate the truth from the chaff.

"Bored, mostly," Potter replied lightly. "Nothing nearly as exciting as trying to rescue every stray dog in the city. If I'd even tried to bring home a pet my aunt would have shrieked the roof down. Did you have any childhood pets, Abigail?"

Draco nearly smiled. It was a deft change of subject, far subtler than Draco would have given Potter credit for, even though his attempt to drag Barnes into the conversation was obvious. The girl had been quieter than Draco, answering terse questions only when spoken to. Draco wondered why Hildebrand had even invited her. She was utterly cheerless and dull.

"A turtle," Barnes said. "When I was ten I had a turtle. I accidentally turned its shell purple with spontaneous childhood magic and refused to let my mother change it back." She smiled and it lit her face like a dim bulb.

"What did you name it?" Hildebrand asked.

"Boxy. Probably the most common name ever for a box turtle, don't you think?" Barnes smiled again but the expression fled almost immediately. "I had to get rid of it when my mother died. My father wouldn't let me keep it."

"I'm sorry," Potter said.

"It wasn't your fault." Barnes shrugged and downed her wine.

"And you, Draco? Any turtles?" Hildebrand's tone was teasing.

"Definitely not."

"No pets at all?"

"Only my owl. I got him when I was eleven." Draco liked his owl, but it had never been quite friendly towards him. It wasn't much of a pet. Draco had certainly never cuddled and cooed over it the way Potter had likely done with his snow-white owl. Draco frowned, wondering what had happened to it. Had it died in the war? He had also forgotten the name of Potter's old owl.

"Me, too," Potter said quietly. Draco felt a twinge of guilt at bringing up owls, as though he had just ripped an old bandage from a not-quite-healed wound.

Hildebrand laughed and Levitated another bottle of wine to the table. "Merlin, we are turning into a maudlin group. This is supposed to be fun!"

"Sorry," Potter said and held out a hand to stop her from spelling open the bottle. "No more wine for me. I have to work tomorrow."

"How's that going, then?" Hildebrand asked. Her eyes flicked to Draco and back to Potter's.

"Good."

"Brilliant," Draco added, making sure his monotone gave away nothing. He lifted his arm and absently rubbed at a spot of skin beneath the bracelet. He had grown used to wearing it, but sometimes he had to shift it to a different position, fearing it might imbed permanently to one spot if he didn't. The movement caused his sleeve to slide down, disclosing the lower edge of his Dark Mark.

"And how is that, Draco?" Hildebrand asked, gesturing towards the tattoo with her chin. "Any pain?"

Draco quickly put his hand under the table and tugged at his sleeve. He arched a brow at Hildebrand. He'd almost thought she'd been serious when she'd said she had no intention of interrogating Draco about his condition.

"Sorry!" she said immediately. "Don't answer that. I said no shop talk and I meant it."

Draco's resentment ebbed. "It's all right. It doesn't hurt anymore. At all."

"Did it hurt when you got it?" Barnes asked.

Draco stared at her, nearly unable to process the question for a moment. Was she daft? He was about to blurt out that of course it fucking hurt, the Dark Lord certainly never had them imbibe pain-relieving potions prior to burning the bloody Mark into their flesh, but his words stumbled to a halt when she spoke again.

"The bracelet, I mean. Did the spell hurt when you put it on? I'm only curious, not asking for professional reasons."

Draco glanced at Hildebrand, who let out a breath. Obviously, Draco wasn't the only one who had thought Barnes' question referred to his Dark Mark. It wasn't until then that Draco noticed the gentle pressure of Potter's fingers on his thigh. He nearly startled in surprise but did not turn to look at Potter for clarification. Still, he wondered, was the touch meant as comfort or a warning? Potter's hand moved away.

"It… I don't know. I was unconscious."

"Oh. Sorry. No one told me." Barnes' tone was faintly accusatory even though she didn't look at Hildebrand.

Now, however, Draco was curious. "Potter? Did it hurt?"

Potter gave him a bemused smile. "No. It was uncomfortable at times, but not painful."

"Like living with me?"

Potter actually chuckled. "Yeah. Like that."

Their gazes met and held and Draco nearly forgave Hildebrand for flirting with Potter. He could be rather attractive at times, and the prat did not even know it. Draco felt his cheeks growing warm. "I think I've also had enough wine."

Potter slid his chair back. "Yeah. We should probably get going before I can't even Floo us home safely. Thank you, Tru, for inviting us."

"Dinner was delicious," Draco added, hoping his relief to be finally leaving wasn't palpable.

"Well, thank you for coming. Perhaps we can do it again sometime."

"I'd like that," Potter said.

Draco marched down the hallway to the living room and the large stone fireplace that dominated one wall. If he had to witness Potter giving Hildebrand a goodbye kiss… Draco's fists clenched. He didn't want to examine his feelings too closely in that regard.

"I'm sorry if I said anything to offend you," Barnes said and he noticed she was right behind him. "I'm a bit socially awkward, in case you didn't notice."

Draco forced a smile. Really, Barnes was a mess. Her social awkwardness was on par with Goyle's, and that was saying something. "It's fine."

Potter entered the room, looking red of face and rather guilty. Draco's gaze sharpened. Had he kissed Hildebrand?

"Well, then, off we go," Potter said and took up a handful of Floo Powder. "Thanks again! Goodnight, Tru. Abigail."  He steered Draco into the fire with a grip on his elbow the moment the powder caused the flames to rise. Draco barely heard the women calling farewells as the Floo Network swept them away.

Draco's sense of relief when they stepped into Potter's flat was palpable.  _ It's good to be home _ , he thought and then tripped on his own feet once he realised what his wayward thought had meant.  _ Home _ .

Potter caught his arm instantly. His brow wrinkled and his tone was concerned. "Merlin, are you all right? You only had a couple of glasses of wine."

Draco shook him off. "I'm fine." He tamped down his sense of not-fine and snatched onto Potter's explanation. Too much substandard wine, that was all. Draco was most assuredly not  _ home _ . Home was Malfoy Manor and always would be. "Fine."

"All right, then."

Draco headed for the stairs. Perhaps a hot shower would wash off the stench of Hildebrand's cologne.

"Draco?"

He paused and turned back to see Potter lift a hand--probably to pull at his hair--but he lowered it to his side. Draco waited.

"Thanks," Potter said.

Draco gave him a curt nod and continued onward. He certainly did not require gratitude for sitting through a gruelling evening with three people he barely tolerated. What he required was payment. Draco smirked slightly at the thought of Potter owing him. Draco would have to think of something suitable. In the meantime, he had to come up with a way to keep from being dragged to Hildebrand's ever again.

Draco had plenty of food for thought, but it wasn't until he had nearly dozed off that he realised Gertrude Hildebrand had invited Abigail Barnes to dinner to set her up with Draco.  Alarmed at his own obliviousness, Draco marched straight in to wake up Potter and they had quite a row about it until Draco stormed back into his own room and slammed the door.

Oddly enough, after fighting with Potter, Draco slept like a baby.

_ Monday, 22nd August, 2005 _

Harry was ready to gnash his teeth in frustration. He wanted information on the tattoo case, especially since Ron had delivered a cryptic note mentioning that four of the five victims had once lived in the village of High Ashbury. However, security concerns surrounding the Quidditch World Cup had thrown the Auror Department into a tizzy. There were no spare bodies available to send out and gather information on a long-dead murder case. The Cup was still far off, but preparations began well in advance, and the Ministry was heavily involved in security and set up.

To add insult to injury, three large stacks of extraneous paperwork (commonly referred to as "drivel") had been dumped on Harry's desk. Instead of inspecting the Quidditch pitch or talking to team liaisons about the upcoming game, Harry had been charged with the task of combing through the files of minor attendees, searching for potential security risks. It was a borderline insult, even though Harry knew Kingsley was only trying to include him despite the fact that he was trapped in his office.

"Why don't we go ourselves?"

Harry lifted his head to peer at Draco. "Go where?"

"To High Ashbury."

"We can't. You're not an Auror."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Shacklebolt has been pressuring me to do something to benefit the Ministry, as a means of atonement for stealing you away from your world-saving duties. I doubt he would object. And you know you want to."

Harry was torn. He did want to. God, how he wanted to. He was already sick to death of sitting in his office, and paperwork was torture. Still, there were all these files to go through…

"Oh for pity's sake, Potter. It won't be dangerous. The murders happened thirty years ago and the victims were children twenty years before that. We'll be lucky to find anyone living who even remembers them."

"And what if one who does is the murderer? What then?"

Draco shook his head. "Then you brandish your wand and do your hero thing and the case is solved. Do you honestly think that will happen? How would you even know if the murderer opened the door? Do you have a psychic ability now, or have you developed a murderer-detection spell?"

Harry glared at him. The git could still get under his skin faster than anyone alive and Harry was also annoyed with him for waking him from a sound sleep to complain about how Tru had tried to "encouple-ate" him with Abigail Barnes. Harry was pretty certain that wasn't even a word, but it had been hard to think in the middle of the night.

Harry suppressed a yawn, recalling that he was still tired. Even so, the thought of Draco and Abigail Barnes was laughable. They had barely spoken six words to one another throughout the entire dinner. Despite that, Harry had tried to defend Tru.

"Tru doesn't know you prefer men," he had said. "I mean, you do, right? I know you were with Blaise and… Wait, you were with Pansy at Hogwarts, so maybe you’re bisexual?"

Draco had glared at him. "Did you and Tru sit around discussing my sexual preferences, then?"

"Of course not! She obviously thinks you like girls or she wouldn't have bothered to set you up with Abigail, if that's even accurate and not a product of your delusional mind--"

"Delusional, am I? That's rich, coming from you. Even if I were attracted to females, it doesn't mean I would be willing to leap into bed with the first one you and that idiot Hildebrand thought might be a grand match for me! You bloody well know how I feel about everyone at St Mungo's, and especially about those two, in particular!"

Harry had flung an arm over his eyes. "Yes, fine. Wonderful, Draco. You have no interest in Abigail Barnes. Good to know, and I will pass it on to Gertrude. Are you happy now? Will you go back to bed and let me sleep?"

Draco had been silent for long moments, probably debating whether or not to continue the argument. Finally, he'd said, "Yes" and departed, slamming the door to his room much harder than warranted.

Harry had rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but his mind had kept tracking over the conversation and Draco's emphatic "even if I were attracted to females". Even if? Did that mean he wasn't? At all? And what about Blaise? Harry had expected Blaise to be a more frequent visitor, but other than his single attempt just after the spell had been cast, and his visit with Draco in Harry's office, Blaise had not been around. It was puzzling, considering that he and Draco had been living together. Harry had assumed they had been in a relationship, albeit an unusual one with the presence of Naldy, but now he wondered. Draco certainly wouldn't enlighten him if he asked about it, and Blaise was just as Slytherin, so it was doubtful he would be any more forthcoming…

Harry had wondered if Ginny would be able to tell him anything about Draco and Blaise's prior relationship. He'd made a mental note to ask her and then had drifted into a fitful sleep. 

"No," he said, forcing his thoughts back to the present, "there are no murderer-detection spells, prat."

"Then let us go. You can pound on doors and ask questions as well as any other Auror, can you not? And I can lurk by the front gate and pretend to be your loyal assistant."

"Oh really?"

"I said  _ pretend _ ."

Harry snorted a laugh. "Yeah, all right. I suppose I can  _ pretend  _ we're going to an early lunch. I'll leave a note for Bertram and we'll Floo to the Leaky to avoid suspicion. We can Apparate from Diagon Alley."

Draco nodded and put away his papers. He carefully locked his journal with the tiny key around his neck and then handed the book to Harry. "Would you mind locking this up? Safe from Bertram's prying eyes?"

"Valuable Quidditch book notes, yeah?" Harry met his eyes with amusement, but Draco only nodded. "All right." Harry dropped the journal into a drawer and cast several spells to keep the drawer sealed from potential theft and prying eyes.

As they walked to the Atrium with brisk steps, Harry realised Draco was as eager to escape the office as he was. And he had to admit it felt good, skirting the edges of doing something not-quite-appropriate. It was almost like his old rule-breaking days.

oooOOOooo

  
  


High Ashbury was a small village that reminded Harry of Hogsmeade only by its quaintness. The rest of it bore little resemblance. Most of the buildings were squat, built of stone or brick with grey roofs and low hedge walls all round. The main street was dirt with vague patches of cobblestone here and there. Harry was willing to bet it was a morass of mud in the winter.  There wasn't much by way of businesses. A small café hosted a bright pink awning over the door and several wrought-iron tables in front--empty at the moment. Across the street stood a pub. Next to that was a combination book-and-gift shop named Tosh and Tomes. An apothecary stood further up the street. The name on the sign was illegible, but the potion vial logo was clearly visible.

Draco wrinkled his nose.

"Don't start," Harry advised and pulled out the scrap of parchment on which he'd written the first address. "Let's go find Birch Lane."

Harry felt conspicuous in his Auror robes, but none of the village folk seemed to be out and about, other than one man taking his crup for a morning walk. He helpfully provided Harry directions to the house on Birch Lane with the added advice of, "They don't live there no more, though. Moved away in seventy-summat."

"You wouldn't happen to know where they moved to, would you?"

"Naw, but Tracy would. She lived next door to them for years. Prolly still keeps in touch by owl, most like."

They found the place easily enough after a short walk down Birch Lane which, not surprisingly, contained not a single birch tree. The small garden had nearly overgrown the dilapidated cottage and the wooden gate was askew and looked half-rotted. Vines nearly hid it from view.

"Apparently no one moved in after they left. Should we go inside?" Draco asked.

"Let's talk to the neighbour first. We don't need her calling the Aurors to accuse us of breaking and entering."

Draco snorted at that and they continued down the road to a lavender-edged white house with an immaculate garden and a tiny, neatly-trimmed lawn. The gate swung on well-oiled hinges and Harry marched up the gravelled walk to rap upon the door.  It opened a few moments later to disclose a tiny witch wearing burgundy robes decorated with heavy lace. Her pure white hair was a mass of wispy curls and she peered at Harry through thick, wire-framed spectacles. A beaded chain dangled from the tines and disappeared around the back of her neck.

"Yes?" she queried.

"Hello, madam. I am here to ask you a few questions about your former neighbours, if this is not an inconvenient time."

"Neighbours? Do you mean the Frizzos?"

Harry nodded.

"Oh my, they haven't lived there for years and years, deary. The old place has fallen into terrible disrepair. Lizzy couldn't keep up with it after Luther… Well, that boy was always due for a bad end. It was no surprise to the rest of us when he met his maker."

"That's what I would like to speak with you about," Harry said with an apologetic smile. "You see, the case was never solved and we feel it may have some bearing on current happenings…"

"By all means, come in. Can I get you a cuppa? Flouncy made fresh crumpets this morning and we have strawberry preserves. You must be hungry, strapping boys such as yourselves. I'm Tracy Sawgrass, by the way."

"I am Auror Potter and this is my associate, Mr Malfoy," Harry said briskly as he and Draco followed the witch into her home. Draco wrinkled his nose and Harry refrained from following suit, even though the place smelled of age and felines. Several cats--or possibly kneazles--meowed when she approached the sofa and she shooed them away.

"Sit down anywhere you like. Malfoy… Now where have I heard that name?"

Harry took a seat on the sofa. The velvet upholstery was worn and threadbare in places and covered in cat hair. Harry whispered a quick Cleaning Spell before Draco sat down, in order to avoid a possible horrified outburst or later complaint-fest. Draco quirked an eyebrow at him as he took the seat.

"We are trying to locate people who knew Luther Frizzo, Natasha Greene, Peyton Harper, or Syed Kapur."

Tracy sat down in a well-cushioned chair across from them. "Those four." She clucked her tongue. "Little hellions, they were. Poor Lizzy could never keep her Luther under control and he ordered the other three around like they were his house-elves. I didn't know any of them well, mind you. Luther popped in occasionally when Lizzy made him try and do odd jobs for me in order to build character. I was always terrified he would rob me blind. That girl, that Natasha, did you say? She was a timid thing; always did whatever Luther asked of her. I expected her to end up destitute and pregnant whilst he gallivanted off with loose women. Thank you, Flouncy."

A bedraggled-looking house-elf clad in pinned-together lace doilies placed a silver tea service on the table between them. Despite having eaten breakfast, Harry thought the crumpets looked delicious. He picked up a plate and slid a crumpet onto it before reaching for the jam.

"I knew they would come to a bad end if they kept on their wicked path," Tracy continued. "But even so, it was dreadful what happened to them. All dead within a few years' time. Still unsolved, you say?"

"Yes, ma'am. We are hoping to shed some new light on the murders. We did not discover until recently that the victims all knew one another--or at least four of them did. So far High Ashbury is the only connection between them."

Tracy shook her head as she dropped a sugar cube into her tea. "We all knew right away as soon as the news hit the papers. I suppose we could have informed the Ministry, but then, we assumed the Aurors knew their jobs. A drawback of being so far from the centre of things, I suppose."

Harry nodded as he smeared jam on the crumpet. He glanced at Draco, who was staring in something akin to horror at a cat that had parked itself in his lap. It was purring.

"I cannot explain the shoddy investigative work. It's one reason we are opening old cases and trying to fill in the holes. You say the victims were all friends?"

"They were like a pack of wild crups. Usually together and always in trouble."

"In trouble to the point where someone might have held a grudge against them into adulthood?" Harry asked and took a bite. The crumpet was brilliant, lightly crunchy on the bottom and soft as a cloud in the centre. The jam was sweet and delicious. He nearly moaned aloud as he chewed. "They were, what…ten years old when they lived here?"

"They would have been ten in 1959," Draco put forth dryly. The cat rubbed its face on Draco's neck. He wasn't touching it, but it seemed to be fond of him. Harry suppressed a grin. "The year after, two of them went to Hogwarts. The other moved to France and Luther Frizzo… We have no idea."

"They were killed between 1973 and 1976. That's a long time to hold a grudge."

"Merlin," Tracy murmured. "I was a young woman then, newly-married to Mr Sawgrass, bless his cantankerous soul. Even so, I remember those children. They were not nice at all. Most of the youngsters around here get up to hijinks, as children will, but not those four. Their pranks were much worse than normal. I heard rumours of things--pets disappearing, valuables stolen, and old Maxwell Carpenter's house burnt to the ground. Lucky he wasn't in it at the time, but certain people swore they saw Luther Frizzo and that girl skulking round Maxwell's place before it caught fire. And Maxwell was known to be unfriendly to children, as a general rule."

Harry swallowed his bite of crumpet. "Maxwell Carpenter? Is he still around, or his relations?"

"Oh no, dear. He was old then. And alone. He moved away once his house had gone. Northern Ireland, I believe. He died a few years after that, according to local gossip. Moppet, leave Mr Malfoy alone."

The cat was rubbing the top of its head against Draco's chin and he was obviously struggling not to shove the creature away violently. Harry took another bite of crumpet to stifle his smile.

"It's…fine," Draco said. To his credit, he managed not to clench his teeth as he spoke.

"Flouncy, please take Moppet to the kitchen for some cream."

The house-elf popped in and retrieved the animal from Draco's lap before disappearing again. Draco quickly picked up his teacup, probably to prevent any other animals from taking Moppet's place.

"Is there anyone else you can think of who might have known the children?" Harry asked, picking up a napkin and resisting the urge to lick his fingers. He wondered if Tracy would be willing to part with some of her jam; it was delicious.

"Well, the Harpers still live here. I believe one of the boys had a brother. You might try them. Over on Meandering Lane, they are. Just past the Owl Post and that new café."

Harry took out a quill and made a quick note. He had learned the value of documentation, especially after sorting through half-arsed case file notes. "Harpers. Thank you so much. You have been invaluable. And the crumpets were delicious. That jam is amazing."

"By all means, have a jar. Flouncy!"

In minutes, Harry was handed a jar of jam and a cloth-wrapped parcel of crumpets, despite his protests. He and Draco were about to depart when Tracy's words stopped them.

"Auror Potter?"

Harry turned back.

"Thank you for handling that nasty business with You-Know-Who. I, for one, am quite happy that he is no longer amongst us. And I wish you well with your illness, Mr Malfoy. You have my condolences regarding your father." Harry grinned at her and she cackled a laugh. "We might not be near the centre of everything, but some of us read the papers. Good luck with your investigation, lads."

Harry thanked her and Draco gave her a solemn nod before they turned and walked down the path.

"Clever old bird," Draco murmured.

"Reminds me of Molly Weasley," Harry replied.

"That she does. But at least the Weasleys don't keep pets." Draco fastidiously brushed at the hair on his clothing. "I might have to thank them for that."

Harry laughed out loud.

oooOOOooo

  
  


"Eh?" A grizzled-looking man peered at them through pale eyes nearly lost beneath bushy eyebrows of steel grey. He was clean-shaven but his sideburns stretched nearly to his chin.

"Mr Harper?" Harry questioned.

"Yeah. What of it?"

Harper was a bear of a man, wide of girth and tall of height. He wore an open set of threadbare black robes with what looked like cotton pyjamas underneath. Something had spilled down the front, vaguely blood-coloured. Harry hoped it had been wine or sauce.

"Was Peyton Harper a relative of yours?"

The belligerence of the man seemed to deflate slightly at the question. He gaped at Harry. "Peyton?"

Harry nodded, not for the first time somewhat ashamed of his job. So many times a simple question had earned him that same stare, which seemed akin to an emotional kick in the stomach.

"Peyton was my brother."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, contrite. It was likely the man hadn't thought of his brother in years. Harry felt like he'd torn a bandage from a nearly-healed wound.

"We are looking into… A new case has shed some possible light on events surrounding his…" Harry cleared his throat.

"We are attempting to rectify the ineptitude of the Aurors who investigated the murder previously," Draco said steadily.

"Previously. It's been thirty years!"

_Closer to forty_ , Harry thought but didn't bother to utter the words.

"Gross ineptitude," Draco added.

The door opened wider and the man disappeared into the gloom. Draco lifted an eyebrow at Harry, who shrugged and followed the man. Draco's footsteps sounded on the wooden floor behind him.

"I'm Ned. But I suppose you already know that."

Harry hadn't known, but he made a mental note of it.

"I'm sorry to dredge this up, Ned, but we were hoping to see if you remember anything about Luther Frizzo."

The living room of the small cottage was full of debris; newspapers, dishes, empty mugs and glasses, takeaway containers, and clothing.

"Must be pants at Vanishing Charms," Draco mumbled.

"Luther? That little bastard. I haven't thought about him in years. Not since Peyton died." Ned sank down onto a well-used sofa. He'd been listening to the Wizarding Wireless and he flicked his wand towards it to lower the volume.

"Then you knew Luther?"

"'Course I did. Peyton followed him around like a damned puppy. Didn't have many friends, did Peyt. I should have told him he could do better, stop being a lackey to that fucking Frizzo arsehole and that stupid girl. I used to beat myself up over it. Wished I could go back and not be so fixed on what I was doing then. Maybe he could have seen the trouble they was." Ned shrugged. "But Peyt was doing okay when he left Hogwarts. I thought he was a bit of all right."

"Did you think it was odd that all four of them were killed within such a short time frame?" Harry asked. "They used to be something of a clique, weren't they? Peyton and Luther, Natasha and Syed?"

Ned chuckled. "Syed. I forgot 'bout him. Never said two words to me, just hung round in Luther's shadow. His family moved away and that was pretty much the end of Luther's gang. Peyt and Tash went to Hogwarts, but Luther's mum was the clingy sort. She wouldn't let Luther go. Backfired on her, I think. Luther just got meaner. He got a job at the Owlery and worked there until he ran away. Went off to London, I think, and never came back. Didn't even know he was dead until about a year after Peyt got it."

Harry nodded. "The only connection between the murders seems to be High Ashbury. Can you think of anyone who might have disliked them enough to hold a murderous grudge for years?"

Ned blinked as if shaken from a reverie, and then he frowned. "You think someone local might have offed them? Half the bloody town wanted to kill them one time or another. Little bastards stole my broom one night and brought it back with half the bristles damaged. I was lucky to get it back at all, to be honest."

"That's not terribly helpful," Draco said.

Harry shot him a glance, but Ned only snorted. "Yeah, I s'pose not. Lemme think if there was anyone in particular…" They waited for long moments, but Ned finally shook his head. "They were pretty much awful to everyone. Luther was a mean sumbitch."

"Do you know if there was any connection between their tattoos?"

Ned snorted. "Peyt had a lot of tattoos. Started getting them when he was still at Hogwarts. Snakes, mostly, since he sorted Slytherin. That was no surprise, let me tell you."

Harry nodded, ignoring Draco's soft noise of protest at the vague slur. The victims had all been tattooed, but Peyton had been adorned with the most; the official report had listed seventeen tattoos. Luther had been next with six. Syed and Natasha each had been tattooed only once, and the final victim had worn three. Syed's mark had been only a month old before he'd been killed.

None of the tattoos had matched, nor had there been any tattoo artists or shops in common. The lot of it was bloody frustrating.

"Do you know anything about Natasha Greene's family?"

Ned pulled a face. "They called her 'Tash.' She was a scrawny mouse of a girl. Cared about nothing but Luther, for some stupid reason. He treated her like he treated everyone else. Like a bloody carpet for him to walk on. She had no parents that I recall. I think she lived with an aunt or grandmother or someone. Whichever, they didn't care that Tash was roaming around with Luther Frizzo. Either that or they gave up trying to stop her. I remember being surprised when she went to Hogwarts and left Luther behind."

Harry's notes mentioned that Natasha Greene had lived with her great-aunt. Both of her parents had died in Madagascar hunting potions ingredients for the small druggist facility where Mr Greene had been employed. The great-aunt had been described by only one word in the file: Unpleasant. He made a note to send an owl to Mrs Sawgrass and ask if she knew the woman's fate. He and Draco had already been gone too long to use their lunch break as an excuse.

"Well, thank you for your time, Ned. If you think of anything at all that might be of help to us, please send me an owl." Harry reached into a pocket and pulled out his business card. He handed it to Ned, mentally wincing when Ned scanned the words. Harry had insisted on using his initials, but it was still rare when someone didn't--

"Cor! H. J. Potter. You're him! You're Harry Potter!"

"All my life," Harry said with a wry grin.

"They'll never believe it down 't pub! Harry Potter in my own house." Ned got to his feet as Harry did the same. He didn't dare look at Draco. "No, they really won't believe it. Can you…sign the back or something?"

Harry's grin fixed in place. Bloody hell, did they have to ask for autographs? Harry conjured a quill and quickly scrawled his name on the back of the card. Ned took it back and cradled it in his large fists. "Thanks again," Harry said.

"No, thank you, Harry Potter."

Harry practically scrambled out the door. Draco bid Ned a curt good day and exited behind him.

"Please, just…don't say it," Harry begged.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Draco's tone was mild, but Harry could hear the amusement beneath the words.

He threw Draco a relieved look and turned around to hold out a hand. "Thanks. Come on."

Draco took his hand and then exclaimed in a high falsetto, "Cor! The Great 'arry Pottah is touchin' me! I'll never wash this 'and again! Can I 'ave yer autygraph?"

Harry glared at him and then Apparated them back to London.


	18. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - Late night Floo call

_**Because things are the way they are, things will not stay the way they are.** _

_**~Bertolt Brecht** _

_Friday, 26nd August, 2005_

**_He was always there in my sixth year at Hogwarts. Always watching, always lurking. I had wanted his attention for years and now I only wanted him to go away, to quit trying to stop me, even as part of me yearned for him to discover my purpose, to throw a pox into the potion and make everything alright. I would not even admit it to myself until years later, but I think I secretly hoped he could save us all. It was for certain I couldn't save us. I couldn't even repair a bloody cabinet, or kill an old man to save my family. Sometimes I wonder how much Dumbledore knew. Quite a lot, surely, and yet he never stepped in, never lifted a finger to stop events from cascading into an unstoppable landslide that culminated in that terrible night on the tower. Harry Potter couldn't save anyone, then. I still remember him screaming as he raced after us, hurling hexes at Severus Snape. I remember thinking "You're too late" and feeling little more than numb._ **

Draco lifted his quill from the journal with a start, shaking off the old events and the dark mood that threatened to smother him. He returned to the present with difficulty and peered at Potter, who was stood near the hallway arch holding a piece of parchment.

"What is it?" Draco asked.

"Tru wants us to come out for a drink later tonight. She's off at ten." Potter's glance shifted to the clock on the mantle and away.

Draco swallowed down a rush of bitterness and strove for casual. "Do you want to go?"

To Draco's surprise, Potter shook his head. "No. I'm really tired. We've been Apparating all over the place this week, and hiding what we're doing from both Bertram and Kingsley has been exhausting." He grinned at Draco. "But fun."

Draco snorted. "Breaking the rules never gets old with you, does it?"

Potter pulled a face. "I'm not breaking the rules. I'm only skirting them a bit. Kingsley never told me not to investigate. And we've learned more in the past week than we would have in a month waiting for the others to have time to do the legwork. And we aren't doing anything dangerous. Chances are the killer is long dead. Everyone else seems to be."

"You don't have to convince me, Potter." Draco turned back to his journal. He understood Potter's frustration with the tattoo case. Despite their somewhat promising interviews in High Ashbury, everything else had turned into empty corridors with no doors. Natasha Greene's great-aunt had been located in a graveyard in lower Kent. No living relatives could be found.

"Unless you want to go, I'll send Tru a reply saying we can't make it. Can you think of a good excuse?"

"Yes. How about 'Draco doesn't like you and refuses to go.'" Draco chuckled at Potter's not-amused face. "Fine. Just tell her you are very busy with International Quidditch things. Meeting with someone to go over regulations, blah blah, very boring, regretfully decline, etcetera."

Potter hurried over and wrote a quick note with his nearly illegible scrawl. "That's very good. Thanks."

"Thank a lifetime of listening to my parents send rejection notes," Draco muttered. He glanced at Potter, who sanded the page and then hurried upstairs to post the letter. A wistful smile tweaked at Draco's lips. It was stupid to be happy that Potter was staying in and not rushing them off to have drinks with Tru Hildebrand, but he was.

Draco reread the last few lines in his journal, but he found himself less than eager to return to the depressing events of their sixth year. He shut the journal and locked it with the key around his neck.

"Potter! Get your arse down here and help me with this puzzle! Also, I am hungry. What do you want for supper?"

"Dunno!" Potter yelled back. "Want to get a pizza?"

Draco's mouth began to water at the word. He had considered revising his lifelong opinion of Muggles on the merits of pizza alone. Potter had introduced him to the wonders of meat, cheese, and sauce upon a round slab of dough and Draco had become instantly smitten. "Pizza is the greatest of Muggle inventions," he said to Potter when he reappeared again. “Next to coffee machines.”

"You've mentioned." Potter grinned. "And I take that as a yes. Ready for a walk?"

Potter had explained the concept of a telephone, basically a Floo Network for Muggles, but his attempts at keeping a telephone working in his magic-laden flat had proven a failure. Apparently Muggles generally called ahead and either had their pizza brought to them or had it ready for pickup. Draco and Harry had to walk to the shop to place their order, but it was a beautiful evening, so Draco wasn't displeased.

"Do you think we should look for--?" Draco began, but Potter cut him off.

"No. No talk of cases or murders or tattoos."

"You didn't even let me finish."

Potter lifted a brow at him. "All right."

"Do you think we should look for an ice cream shoppe?" Potter did not need to know Draco had amended his case-centric question. "For Teddy." Draco had discovered he rather liked jaunting around Britain searching for clues to the long-dead murder case, even if they had turned up little of value. It had been far better than sitting around at the Ministry. Also, Potter's mood had improved hundredfold; he practically glowed with vitality.

"For Teddy. Right. And yes, I suppose we can ask the Muggles when we order the pizza. And if it's nearby we can go and sample some ice cream. To make sure it's suitable for _Teddy_."

Draco nodded. "Quite right. And why are we not talking about the case?"

"We need a break. We've gone over everything we can think of recently and I know from experience that new ideas mostly come when you're thinking of something else. Therefore, tonight we will not discuss case-related anything. Or Quidditch books, or writing. Tonight we will have pizza and ice cream. Perhaps some wine. And we will talk about other things."

"We are not good at talking about other things, Potter."

"Well, we need to learn. Tell me about somewhere you've been that I don't know about. A happy place."

Draco gave him a bemused look. "Pansy's house is nice."

Potter wrinkled his nose and Draco laughed. "Seriously?"

"Yes, the Parkinson's are just as…" he stopped himself from saying “pure-blooded” and revised it to "…wealthy as we are. Also, their manor house is older and more opulent. It was originally a castle, back in the days of Charlemagne. I think my mother's dislike of the Parkinsons stems mainly from envy, although if you ever mention that to her I will hurt you in your sleep."

"How long have you known Pansy?"

"All my life, I think. We always ended up together at boring social functions. It was always Pansy and me with Vince and Greg. And later Blaise. We met him at Hogwarts, as his mother coddled him terribly as a child. He was rarely allowed out of the house."

"That…sort of explains why he's a social butterfly now, doesn't it?"

"More of a social hornet," Draco said dryly. "My parents and the Parkinsons were always outwardly friendly, but in actuality, they loathed one another. The Parkinsons are anti-political and that stance made the gap between their ideologies even wider when the Dark… well, when You-Know-Who came to power. I remember spending many evenings trying to convince Pansy of the wisdom of following him, but she told me I was stupid. She always said that megalomaniacs seldom amount to anything."

"Then why did she try to turn me over to Voldemort?"

"She tends to speak her mind when she's stressed. It doesn't always end well. She was frightened and just wanted him to go away. And she didn't like you."

"I don't think that has changed much," Potter said with a snort as he opened the door to the pizza parlour.

oooOOOooo

They ordered the usual: bacon and spinach with Lancashire cheese and no tomatoes, and asked about nearby ice cream (which resulted in the clerk scratching his head with a confused frown) and then argued about which pizza toppings were substandard and why.

They carried the pizza back to the flat and sat on the floor, eating the cheese-laden crust while working on Draco's latest puzzle. Thanks to Draco, Harry had developed an actual appreciation for wine. A full-bodied red tasted amazing with the pizza, and they had consumed an entire bottle before Harry knew it. His stomach was pleasantly full and the tipsy feeling was nice.

"My arse hurts," Harry complained and got to his feet stiffly. "'Moving to the sofa. More wine?"

"Yes. And good ideas, both."

Harry glanced over his shoulder as he went into the kitchen for another bottle. Draco, thankfully, was wearing black trousers and a simple button-down shirt in mint green, and not the disturbing Muggle shorts. Still, he looked…really nice. Really, really nice. Harry scowled and dragged his eyes away.

 _Not going there_ , he reminded himself and dusted off the bottle with a flick of his hand. He spelled the cork out and admonished himself for not going out with Tru. She was the one Harry should be focussing on, not Draco. Tru was kind, beautiful, professional, and she understood the situation with Draco. Harry knew she would never be demanding and unreasonable.

He Vanished the cork and carried the bottle back into the living room. Draco was now sprawled on the sofa, his long legs stretched out and his hair partially mussed from a pillow he'd propped between his head and the wall. Harry felt a twinge of pure longing. If only he could...

 _Tru Hildebrand_ , Harry reminded himself sternly, _I'll send her a card tomorrow. Perhaps some chocolates._

"Tell me something about yourself, Potter," Draco said as Harry sat next to him, not quite touching, and lifted the bottle. Draco held up his glass.

"What do you want to know?" Harry asked as he poured. His own glass was still on the floor by the puzzle pieces, so Harry Summoned it without a whisper of sound or motion.

"How does it feel to be all-powerful?"

"I'm not all-powerful," Harry replied and refilled his wine glass, flushing as he realised he should not so blatantly flaunt his magic around Draco. "I think… I think your magic is making mine stronger. I don't feel any different, but things are so easy now. It's hard to explain." Harry barely needed his wand any longer, but he did not think Draco would appreciate hearing that titbit. Harry needed to stop giving in to the easy path or he would find using his own magic difficult to use when Draco's was returned.

"Do you think I'll ever have it back?"

Harry looked at him, uncertain what to reply. "Of course I do."

Draco snorted. "Optimist."

Harry lifted his wineglass and smiled as he jiggled it. "Half full." He took a drink and nearly choked at Draco’s next statement.

"Tell me about your family. Do you visit them?"

"The Dursleys?" Harry snorted. "No. No, I don't visit them at all. In fact, I haven't seen them since the day I turned seventeen." In truth, he seldom thought about them. He was sure the sentiment was mutual, although he did wonder about Dudley now and again. Their final, awkward parting had given him hope that Dudley would, just possibly, grow up to be something other than an angry clone of Vernon.

"You haven't seen them? At all?"

"They didn't like me very much. I was nothing more than a burden to them as a child. If not for my Hogwarts letter and Hagrid showing up to take me away, I probably would have run away from home and ended up in prison or something. I was lucky I hadn't reached the bitter, angry teen stage."

"But…you're Harry Potter. Didn't they know about you?"

"They were terrified of magic. They never told me I was a wizard and punished me severely whenever I did accidental magic. And they never talked about my parents at all. Got all upset and yelled at me whenever I asked. Look, can we talk about something else?" Harry took a gulp of his wine. Apparently, there were still issues he hadn't worked out in regards to his childhood. He most likely needed therapy, something Hermione had mentioned for years and Harry had ignored.

"I…sure." Draco drank also and then they were silent for a long time. Harry debated getting up, but he didn't want it to seem like he was running away. And then Draco said, "I had a good childhood. A bit lonely, but good. My parents gave me nearly everything I wanted."

Harry nodded and refrained from mentioning that Draco had been an obnoxious, spoiled brat as a child.

"And then Voldemort moved in."

Harry's blood went cold.

"I've never talked about that time. Not with Blaise. Not with Pansy. Not with anyone." Draco's voice was soft but toneless. "It was terrible. After that debacle at the Ministry that ended with my father in Azkaban, the Dark Lord decided it would be prudent to move into my house. And he brought his rabble with him." Draco shuddered. "Murderers and thieves. Werewolves and soulless, spineless men like that Wormtail. Of course, it didn't matter if they were weak men or strong. I watched Mr Goyle, a huge, fearless bear of a man, cry like a baby after being tortured for an hour."

Draco stopped and took another drink. Harry said nothing, torn between wanting to stop him and wanting him to continue.

"He took my parents' room, of course. Only the master suite was good enough for the new master. My mother moved to the rooms next to mine. Father was still in Azkaban then. So many times I cursed you for that, but after he was freed… Well, I saw how stupid I was. Father was safer there. I think he could have held his own against the Dementors and exited much as he was before. But after losing his status, after being treated with contempt by that…monster and all of his wretched minions, after a year of watching the Dark Lord trample, crush, and threaten everything he loved, everything he'd once called his, including Mother and I--" Draco's voice broke.

Harry swallowed and reached out to lay his palm upon Draco's forearm. "You don't have to…"

Draco gave him a sidelong look. "They say it's cathartic. Confession. Good for the soul and all that. If I have a soul left after everything I've done."

"Of course you have a soul," Harry said quietly.

Their eyes held and then Draco looked away. "Debatable. But thank you. My father was a broken man by the end, ridiculed and humiliated by the one he was forced to serve, his status gone, even amongst the Death Eaters."

"Why did he keep serving, then? Why not escape? Come to the Order for help?" Harry had to ask.

Draco shook his head. "My father was a proud man, Potter. He would have died before admitting defeat, accepting that he was wrong. He could think of nothing beyond regaining what he had lost. Crawling to the Order for help, begging for assistance-- It would have been unthinkable. He only wanted to retrieve what he'd once had, until the very end when he realised that none of it could be saved. Even if the Dark Lo… Even if Voldemort won we would lose. Status. Power. Respect. Such fleeting concepts, so hard-won and so easily lost. I'm not sure he ever really grasped that."

"At the final battle, at Hogwarts, all he wanted was to find you. I saw him, and your mum, ignore everything around them, screaming your name. He didn't seem concerned about power and respect then."

"I shouldn't have worried them." Draco's voice was a whisper. "I don't even know what I was thinking. I suppose I'd planned to commit some glorious, unforgivable act, and elevate my family's name, get my father back into _his_ good graces. Despite the horrors I'd seen, the things I'd been forced to do, I was still willing to join him." He shook his head. "I don't know what I was thinking. Salazar, I was stupid. I sought to kill you--actually kill you--in order to gain some pathetic level of status in the eyes of a resurrected madman. And then when the moment came, I just…I couldn't."

"Just like with Dumbledore."

"I… What?" Draco's stare fixed on him again.

"You couldn't kill Dumbledore and you couldn't kill me. You're not a murderer, Draco. Your soul is still intact." Harry gave him an encouraging smile.

"How did you… How did you know about Dumbledore?"

Harry looked away and shrugged. He did not want to explain that he'd been there, on the tower. He'd been privy to far too much of Draco's life during moments he would most likely rather remain private. He remembered Draco's horrified expression when Voldemort had killed Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher. Draco would not be pleased to know that Harry had witnessed that particular scene, in a manner of speaking.

"Just like you couldn't turn me over to Voldemort at the Manor when we were captured. I know you recognized me, despite my face being swollen and weird. You had to have known I'd never leave Ron and Hermione. It could only have been me. And yet you pretended you didn't know."

"I didn't know." Draco's words sounded hollow.

"You _did_ know. You saved my life. If they had called him any sooner… Well. That would have been the end of me. The end of a lot of things."

Draco snorted. "Not the end of you. You would have got out of it. You get out of everything. Born under a lucky star, you were."

Harry tried to smile and failed. "I've never felt that way. Quite the opposite, most of the time."

Draco's teeth worried at his lower lip for a moment. "Sorry. You're right. Don't listen to me. Blaise says I talk out of my arse too frequently."

Harry didn't want to talk about Blaise, nor did he want to think about Blaise’s relationship with Draco, whatever it was or had been. He pulled out his wand and flicked a spell towards the radio. It wasn't necessary to use his wand, but he remembered his goal of not wanting to make magic look too easy. Old-fashioned dance music issued from the box, conjuring images of sedate waltzes and billowing robes. Harry wrinkled his nose and changed the station to something more modern.

He stopped when he heard a song he recognized. The Cracked Cauldrons was a new favourite, and Merlinesque, with their bagpipes and maracas, had a unique sound. Muggle music had been slowly infiltrating the wizarding world and the selections were growing wider. Unfortunately, music production still hadn't moved beyond magical records and scratchy turntables, but at least the Wireless now played a larger variety of songs.

Hyper-aware of his proximity to Draco, even though they were not touching at all, Harry took another drink of wine to keep from opening his mouth and babbling nonsense. A low, maudlin love song came on and Harry tried to ignore the sudden rush of sadness called forth by the haunting tune. It spoke of lost love and eternal longing. The singer's voice was deep and resonant.

"Why did you do it?" Draco asked during a lull in the sad song.

"Do what?"

"All of it. Save me. Save us all. Pull me out of the fire. Kill Voldemort. Speak for me and my family at the trial. Take your pick. Why?"

Harry looked at him, perplexed. “I made my choices, even during the times it seemed I had no choice. I couldn’t let you die. Not ever. And I couldn’t let you go to Azkaban, nor your father, although that one was a much harder decision, I’ll have you know.”

“I will never understand why you didn’t let me die in the fire with Vince. It would have been smarter to leave us there. You could have died trying to save a worthless Death Eater like me.”

Harry grinned, although his heart clenched at the memory of roaring flames, of vast heat, and Draco’s terrified face. “But I didn’t,” he said flippantly. He sobered, meeting Draco’s eyes. “Couldn’t. I couldn’t have left you and lived with myself.” He swallowed and tried to regain his smile. “And I’m glad. Because then who else would I have to share pizza and wine with, and who else would scatter puzzle pieces all over my floor and complain about the ridiculous policies of the Ministry while waiting for coffee to brew in their expensive Muggle coffee machine?”

“Just about anyone, Potter,” Draco said and looked away. Harry’s throat closed up tight and he watched Draco’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed a drink of wine.

 _But I don’t want anyone else_ , Harry thought and his heart echoed the stretching, painful yearning he was just beginning to accept. He looked away and swore softly. “I’ll go clean up.”

The limited mess took only a few minutes to eradicate, and Harry stood in the kitchen for a while longer, reluctant to return to the sofa. It was getting late, he supposed, so he halted awkwardly in the doorway and jerked a thumb in the general direction of upstairs.

“I think I’ll turn in.”

“All right.” Draco barely moved from the couch and Harry thought he might fall asleep there if left to his own devices.

He smiled. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight.”

Harry’s bed was only welcome for a short time, and then he found himself tossing and turning, replaying scenes in his mind that could only come to a bad end. He heard Draco walk up the stairs and then the sounds of him preparing for bed and climbing into his futon. Harry wondered vaguely how comfortable it was and made a mental note to seek out a better mattress. Draco hadn’t complained, but then, he hadn’t complained about much at all, other than silly things that would mean little in the long run.

“I’m an idiot,” Harry whispered into the darkness. Helping Draco had seemed like such a noble sacrifice. Had he really expected to hang onto Draco’s magic, find a magical cure, and restore it back to him like some sort of comic book superhero, unaffected by basic human emotions? Hadn’t he realized that simply spending time with Draco would either cause him to loathe the man or to...love him?

Harry sighed explosively, turned over, and pounded his pillow to fluff it into a more comfortable lump. _Can you be any more melodramatic? You don’t_ love _him_ , he told himself. _Just because he’s attractive, and intelligent, and sensitive, and serious, and loves coffee and Muggle puzzles, and doesn’t hate the Weasleys anymore, and is utterly adorable with Teddy…_

Harry pulled the pillow over his head, cast a silent Muffliato, and screamed into his mattress. Why did life have to be so bloody unfair? If Draco even caught a hint of Harry’s ridiculous feelings, their life together would be awkward as hell, and it was already difficult enough. Harry needed to get over this stupid attraction.

After another hour of tossing and turning, Harry left the bed and padded downstairs to pour a short glass of milk. He didn’t particularly care for it, but he thought the soporific effects were valid, so he choked down a swallow or two. He glanced at the fireplace and noted that it really wasn’t all that late. Hermione was probably still awake, poring over whatever charts, graphs, files, or books commanded her attention.

He stood before the low flame and listened intently for any sound from upstairs. He heard nothing and concluded that Draco was fast asleep. Harry grabbed a handful of Floo powder and dropped to his knees.

After a minute or two of hissing her name, Hermione’s face appeared in the fire.

“Harry? Is anything wrong?”

“Not really. Well, maybe. I think I’m going crazy.”

Hermione snorted. “That’s to be expected, considering.”

“Very funny.” Harry paused, unwilling to open up to her now that they were face-to-face, so to speak. How was he supposed to admit that he was attracted to Draco Malfoy? He was barely able to accept it himself. It had been easy to flirt with him early on when it had meant nothing, but now Harry was falling helplessly into some nameless emotion where Draco was concerned.

 _You know the name of it_ , his internal heckler scoffed. He shushed it.

“I just… I need your help,” he said finally.

“With what?”

“This curse of Draco’s. We have a few clues, some things we’re working on, but none of it is coming fast enough. I want to find a cure for this thing. I _need_ to find a cure for this, Hermione.”

Her visage displayed a frown, distorted by the flames. “Is he that difficult to live with? I thought you two were getting on fine. You’ve not complained at all until now. Did something happen?”

Harry shook his head and pulled at his hair. Rather than admit to the notion that, in fact, they were getting on too well, he just repeated his entreaty. “Please. Will you help?”

She nodded. “My research for the World Cup is nearly complete. Send me what you’ve got and I’ll try to clear my workload and give it my full attention. You know I’ll do what I can.”

Harry smiled wanly. “Thanks, Hermione. I don’t know how much longer I can live with him.” _Without doing something completely, utterly stupid, and ruining everything._

“All right. Now go to bed. It’s late.”

“You, too!”

She smiled. “Okay. Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight.”

He broke the connection, banked the fire, and went back to bed.


	19. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - Shadows of the past

_**Every possession and every happiness is but lent by chance for an uncertain time, and may therefore be demanded back the next hour** _

_**~Arthur Schopenhauer** _

Draco stared into the darkness, replaying the words he’d just overheard. They felt like poisoned barbs tearing into his soul, although he tried to shake them off. It was difficult to breathe, but he didn’t move, not wanting Potter to think he was awake. Obviously, he hadn’t intended Draco to overhear.

Draco's heart thudded in his chest, feeling suddenly leaden and oversized.  _ I thought we were getting on so well. I thought we were… I thought we were friends _ .

The blankets were heavy, cloying, and he wanted to kick them off. He wanted to stand up and throw things. He wanted to pick up a wand and shoot hexes until nothing was left of the flat but rubble and dust. He wanted to Apparate far, far away.

Draco couldn't do any of those things. Even moving the blankets seemed like more effort than his heart could handle. Any movement and it might explode into bits. Any movement and he might break the painful stasis that held him. Any movement and he might give in to the urge to stand up and scream, to rage and break things. To hurt Potter the way Potter had just... 

Draco swallowed through what felt like broken glass in his throat. It was his own fault for building up a silly fantasy in his mind, his fault for believing Potter wanted him around, for thinking that maybe Potter even cared about him.

_ I don't know how much longer I can live with him. _

What a fool he had been. How had he been lulled into a false sense of security by Potter’s earnest face, sincere-sounding questions, and fake camaraderie? And all this time Potter had been barely holding it together. Draco had to hand it to him; his acting skills had been phenomenal. Draco had been completely fooled. Aside from a rare occasion or two, Draco had never suspected how miserable Potter must be.

_ I don't know how much longer I can live with him. _

Draco pushed away the words and tried not to think, tried not to focus on anything beyond the steady in-out of his own breathing and the loud ticking of the clock downstairs. After what seemed hours, Draco rolled over and curled around a pillow, holding it the way he'd done when the Dark Lord had shouted and raged and laughed beyond Draco's door in the Manor. Despite the familiarity, the pillow was no more comfort now than it had been then, though he held it tightly until morning, unable to succumb again to slumber.

_ Saturday, 27nd August, 2005 _

Potter opened the door. Draco didn't move, still clutching his pillow and staring at the blank wall. His back was to Potter.

"Draco?"

Draco's lips thinned. Potter's voice was soft and low, sounding concerned.  _ Fake, fake, fake _ , Draco thought angrily.

A moment later the edge of the bed depressed and a hand reached out to touch Draco's shoulder. He refrained from jerking away with difficulty.

"Draco, are you all right?"

"Leave me alone."

The hand left his shoulder and moved up to touch his forehead. "Are you sick? It's past noon."

Draco moved away, turning onto his stomach and shrugging his face away from Potter's touch. "Just tired. Go away."

There was a long pause, and then Potter left the bed. "All right. I'll be downstairs. Call if you need anything."

_ Of course, you'll be downstair _ s, Draco thought derisively,  _ you can't go anywhere with me here. You're bloody well stuck here. No wonder you hate it. As long as I'm here, you're here. _ The knowledge rattled the wall of anger Draco had built around himself, but even though he understood perfectly why Potter wanted him gone, he still could not forgive Potter's false pretences. Not once had Potter acted like Draco was a burden. In fact, he had gone out of his way to pretend the entire situation was no problem. No problem at all.

_ Fucking liar! _

Draco punched his pillow a few times just for the satisfaction of hitting something, and then pulled it close again. The furious action seemed to drain off the enraged energy that had been keeping him awake all night and half the day, and he finally dozed off.

When he woke again, the shadows told him it was late afternoon. Draco lay still and listened. After long moments he heard the quiet rustle of paper. Potter was downstairs, reading, writing, or poring over case files.

Draco's stomach growled, even though he felt slightly ill at the thought of eating, or perhaps it was merely the idea of facing Potter that made him queasy. He pictured himself walking downstairs. Potter's face would express fake concern and he would probably force a smile that just yesterday Draco would have thought was sweet and almost adorable.

Draco savagely jerked at the fabric of his pillow. And then Potter would ask him how he was and if he needed anything and Draco would throw a bowl at his head. Draco smiled, envisioning a random bowl sailing through the air and cracking against Potter's skull with a meaty thwack. Potter would drop like a stone and Draco would flounce into the kitchen for a snack.

He rolled over and sighed as the vengeful image faded. He decided he really wasn't that hungry after all. Perhaps things would look better in the morning. He closed his eyes and willed himself back to sleep.

A short time later a sound stirred him from a lethargic doze. He opened his eyes to see Potter's back as he departed. A delicious smell wafted from the bedside table and Draco sought the origin. Potter had brought up some food. Despite a hot flare of annoyance that quickly faded to lukewarm, Draco managed to sit up and eat most of the corned beef sandwich and bowl of vegetable soup sopped up with two extra slices of bread.  With his appetite sated, Draco lay down again and let a thick blanket of sadness slide over him. How nice it had been before Draco had learned of Potter's true feelings. It would have been so easy to believe Potter cared. Instead, he was…what? Just keeping Draco alive until they could find a cure and Potter would be freed?

_ Doesn't explain his little niceties _ , a tiny core of optimism protested,  _ like bringing you food when he thinks you're sick _ .

_ Of course, it does _ , his cynical side retorted,  _ it's just Potter being Potter _ . His cynical side had Pansy’s voice.

_ “Shut up _ ,” Draco muttered to himself. Bouyed by a full stomach, regardless of origin, Draco drifted back to sleep.

_ Sunday, 28th August, 2005 _

Harry was worried about Draco. He hadn't left his room at all the previous day, and Harry had waffled between wanting to wake him (partially from sheer boredom) and fretting about whether or not to call Healer Hildebrand. Only the fact that Draco hadn't felt warm to the touch, and had finally eaten something, had kept Harry from sending for her. He supposed Draco had merely overdone it the previous day or had possibly picked up a virus from their journey into Muggle London.  Harry made a mental note to keep such journeys to a minimum. They had no idea what a lack of magic would do to Draco's immune system. The thought of Draco coming down with some deadly Muggle disease caused Harry's heart to race. It would be his fault if anything happened. They needed to be more careful.

Harry turned a page of the Prophet and skimmed an article about how to prevent mould from growing on delicate potion ingredients. Draco and Hermione would probably find it interesting, but all the words blurred together for Harry.

He turned another page and fell into speculation about the upcoming Quidditch World Cup. A thought jolted him and he realised it would be the perfect outing for Draco if they were still together in a year. The thought was sobering, and then he decided that things would work out one way or another, so it would be best to prepare now. Optimism, right? Harry could easily get tickets. He barely felt a flash of guilt at the knowledge, for once thinking of his fame as an asset. Draco would be thrilled, especially if they got excellent seats. He set the paper aside and scratched a quick note to remind himself to ask Ginny later. A flash of guilt assailed him when he realised he hadn't spoken to Ginny in days. Perhaps he could talk Draco into going to lunch with Ginny and Blaise, even though the thought of seeing Blaise Zabini again was less than enticing.

He set the note aside, knowing the cryptic scrawls would appear as gibberish to Draco. Harry grinned. His smile fled when his attention slid to the clock. It was nearly noon and Draco had barely budged. Once again he hadn't risen for breakfast or even made an imperious demand for coffee.

Harry debated making him something for breakfast (or lunch) and taking it upstairs, but then he heard the muted creak of the bathroom door closing. A moment later and the toilet flushed. Harry listened intently. Draco had been up twice before to use the bathroom, but he had immediately returned to his bed before Harry could even say hello. This time, however, the shower turned on. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully, it meant Draco was feeling better and would soon be back to normal.

Harry got to his feet and went to start a pot of coffee, just in case Draco wanted some. He also settled on making cheese sandwiches, grilled with basil and tomato the way Draco liked. He opened a bag of crisps and poured them into a bowl before sending it to the table.  Draco’s showers tended to be long and this one was no exception. Harry held off on the sandwiches until the water shut off, some thirty minutes past when it had begun. He shook his head and smiled. The longest shower Harry had ever taken was probably about fifteen minutes, and that was the time he’d been covered in mud after a gruelling chase through sodden fields after a running perpetrator. He couldn’t fathom why Draco took so long.

_ Probably shampooing each hair individually _ , Harry thought and chuckled, imagining Draco’s glare should Harry impart that suggestion. He made a note to save it for a future opportunity.

Harry placed the sandwiches in the pan amidst the sizzling garlic-butter and hoped Draco planned to come down and eat. If he went back to bed, Harry would call Healer Hildebrand whether Draco liked it or not.

He heard footsteps on the stairs a short time later and felt an unexpected spike of nervousness as he plated the food. Draco’s brusque refusal to speak more than monosyllables since Friday night was worrying.

“Good morning,” Harry said pleasantly when Draco appeared in the doorway. “I made lunch. And some coffee, if you like. You are probably going into severe caffeine withdrawal by now. Are you feeling better?” Harry forced himself to stop talking.

Draco grunted and strode past him to reach the coffee. He poured a mug and topped it with the flavoured cream mixture Harry had set out.

Harry carried the plates to the table. A pitcher of pumpkin juice rested there already and he poured a glass after taking a seat. Draco walked out and sat down without looking at Harry. He surveyed his plate as though searching for a reason to complain. Harry frowned.

“Thanks,” Draco said without inflection.

Harry nodded and took a bite, chewing slowly to avoid speaking.

Draco pulled the Prophet around and opened it up, flattening out a page next to his plate. He ate quickly but neatly, attention fixed entirely on the newspaper.

“Armand Larousse dislocated his shoulder in the match against Germany. Do you think it will affect France’s chance at the Cup?” Harry asked.

“No,” Draco said. Harry waited, but Draco did not elaborate. A spike of anxiety stabbed Harry and he took another bite of his sandwich to cover his sudden attack of nerves. The food he’d eaten sat in his stomach like lead and he realised his appetite had fled.

“There is an amusing article in there about—” Harry began, but Draco got to his feet, apparently spurning the final two bites of his sandwich.

“I need to write to my mother,” he said and picked up his coffee cup. He turned away.

“We can go visit her if you like,” Harry replied, a bit desperately.

Draco paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. At last, he shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.” He continued on, into the hall and back upstairs. Harry swallowed hard and stared at his plate, feeling nervous and confused. Something was wrong, but what? He sincerely hoped Draco wasn’t feeling any new symptoms from his loss of magic, things that he preferred to keep to himself. Harry couldn’t help him—or get him help—if he didn’t even know what was wrong.  Of course, it could have been something Harry had done. He thought back to the night before last when they had been getting on so brilliantly. Had something happened? Had Harry been too clingy, too obvious? He didn’t think so, but there had to be some reason why Draco was behaving so strangely now. What had they talked about?

Had Draco overheard Harry’s conversation with Hermione? He frowned, having only a vague recollection of asking Hermione for help. Draco had been asleep, hadn’t he? And even if he had overheard, he wouldn’t have had issue with Harry seeking Hermione’s help with solving their problem. After all, it would be to Draco’s benefit in the long run.

Harry sighed and shook his head. Perhaps it was simply Draco being Draco. Harry hadn’t been around him long enough to read all of his moods, apparently. There was still much they needed to learn about one another.

Harry cleaned up the kitchen and decided it was a good sign that at least Draco was up and moving and seemed healthy. When Harry finished and walked upstairs, he heard the scratching of Draco’s quill, nearly inaudible except when Harry leaned his ear against Draco’s closed door.  Harry resigned himself to another period of boredom and went to his room to do something mundane, such as reorganise his wardrobe. He decided it wasn’t a bad idea (and he really was bored) so he took all of his clothing out and piled them on the bed. With a judicious eye and a mental voice that sounded more like Draco’s, he weighed each item as to how frequently he wore it. Everything he hadn’t touched in six months or more were tossed into a pile for donation to a Muggle charity. He tossed a few more items that failed the “Draco test” – if he could imagine Draco wrinkling his nose in horror upon viewing the item, it probably wasn't worth wearing.

Once finished sorting, he hung the “keep” garments in his wardrobe according to colour and frequency of use. Feeling accomplished, he returned downstairs and was disappointed to discover the chore had only taken him an hour and four minutes.

He dropped onto the sofa with a bored sigh and turned on the wireless. He flitted through the few music stations and stopped at two people arguing the merits of the new Cleansweep broom against the Firestorm, the latest model of Firebolt. Despite Harry’s interest in the subject, he found his mind wandering.  What had he done before Draco’s arrival in his life? He had honestly thought of himself as a homebody, seldom going out and spending most of his time at home. Upon forced reflection, however, he realised that that had been a delusion. Even when he was home alone, he had frequently popped out to Diagon Alley, dropped in to see friends, taken a spurious flight on his broom, or simply wandered around the Muggle neighbourhood. His actual time spent sitting at home had been minimal.

Strangely, he hadn’t minded being homebound with Draco’s company. He had barely noticed the restriction of being unable to leave. Draco’s nearby presence had made all the difference. Harry found himself missing Draco’s never-ending sardonic comments, his quiet laughter, and his annoyed muttering as he sought for his next puzzle piece.

Harry sighed and glanced up at the loft. Draco wasn’t visible, even if he still sat at the desk. Harry got up and walked over to the latest puzzle. It was barely a rough outline at the moment, and the majority of pieces were still in a large jumble.

Harry sat on the floor and began to turn the pieces over. Draco had already finished the outer edges and a goodly chunk of the upper left corner. Harry hunted for the correctly shaped bits, trying to immerse himself in the exercise the way Draco was wont to do. He tried to ignore the feeling that everything seemed suddenly broken and he didn’t know why.

oooOOOooo

  
  


Draco started an angry letter to Pansy, getting as far as “Dearest Pansy” before he remembered that he would not be able to Incendio the evidence should he choose to destroy the parchment after he’d vented his rage. He considered writing to his mother, but what would he say? “Thank you for your momentously bad decision to bind me to Potter?”

He glared at the blank expanse of paper and wrote his name with a couple of extra swirls. He wrote it a few more times in different styles and then wrote  _**Harry James Asshat Potter**_. It made him feel slightly better, so he wrote it again and added  _**Saviour of the Miserable and Doer of Good Deeds Whether or Not One Wants Them Done. Harry James Potter, author of You Will Take My Salvation and You Will Like It.** _

Draco snickered to himself and drew a stick figure on a broom, reminiscent of his school days. He recalled drawing dozens of incarnations of Potter in peril. Falling from his broom, dying from poison, flailing from a Cruciatus Curse, and quite a few of him falling dead from a Draco-cast Killing Curse. This time Draco drew him waving to an adoring crowd far below, to match the titles he’d written.

He frowned and fleshed out the stick Potter, adding chest muscles, an abdomen, and thighs. When he was finished it looked more like a rough human figure than a doodle, albeit somewhat ruined by an ugly inkblot near Potter’s right shoulder. Quills were not the best medium for drawing.  Draco pulled out a desk drawer and found several more quills, a stick of charcoal, and three Muggle items. One was a slender cylinder of white with a blue cap, made of the synthetic material that Muggles favoured. Plas-stick, Potter called it. Draco pulled off the cap and pressed it against the paper, then dragged it across. A blue line resulted, but it felt strange in his hand. He wrinkled his nose. The second item was similar but much fatter with a black cap. It left a thick, dark line on the parchment and Draco found himself reluctantly impressed. It was much cleaner than a quill and dried almost instantly.

The final item was a pencil. Muggleborns at Hogwarts had used them frequently, and even some pure-bloods because they could easily have been of wizard manufacture. They were similar to small wands, but with a core of graphite rather than unicorn hair, and they could produce no magic other than words or art.

It took Draco some minutes to grow comfortable with using the tool, but he quickly grew to like the fine lines. It was more forgiving than charcoal and quite a lot neater. He redrew Potter on a broom and made a pleased nod when it came out quite nice. 

Draco shoved the doodle aside and pulled out a clean parchment. He leaned forwards and started to sketch in earnest, drawing curved, overlapping lines that gradually turned into Potter’s face. Draco bit his lip as he filled in the dark hair, sticking out at all angles, and round circles for glasses. The eyes were not quite right, nor were the lips. He pushed it aside and started over.

Downstairs, Potter turned on the wireless and flipped through the stations. Draco listened until Potter located a talk show. The hosts were blathering about Quidditch, a topic Draco found he was actually growing tired of. It seemed frivolous to get worked up about a silly game when so much in his life was dramatically more important, like trying to stay alive long enough to get his magic back.  That thought reminded him of Potter’s Floo conversation with Granger and he attacked the paper with renewed vengeance, determined to draw the bastard if only to destroy the likeness afterwards.

Sometime later, Draco stood up and peered over the railing. Potter was below, hunting through Draco’s puzzle pieces. Draco snorted derisively and went back to his sketching. Potter was shite at puzzles. He’d be lucky to find six bits in an hour.

Draco shaded the line of Potter’s jaw and felt a pang of sadness. He had always enjoyed sitting with Potter, hunting for puzzle pieces. He had enjoyed sitting on the sofa with Potter and eating meals with him and just generally being in his presence.

“Fuck,” Draco muttered and picked up the paper he’d been drawing on. About to crush it in a fit of pique, he paused. It wasn’t a bad likeness. Potter stared out of the drawing, eyes sparkling. Draco had drawn his lips curved into a tiny smirk. He had been trying for arrogant, but even in the bloody drawing it came across as self-deprecating and far too Potterish for Draco’s liking.

The hell of it was, Draco actually missed him. And that simply was not on.

oooOOOooo

Harry gave up in late afternoon. He had hunted for puzzle pieces, tried to read, baked crunchy oat biscuits, and even tried to fold origami cranes before giving up and going to bed. If Draco was hungry he could bloody well make his own food or eat biscuits. Harry slid between the sheets and tried to ignore the sting caused by Draco ignoring him.

Something was up with Draco; that was certain. Harry could only hope that he would break out of his self-imposed shell and talk to him.

The next morning was no improvement. Draco replied to all questions in monosyllables or short, laconic drawls. He refused to meet Harry's eyes, fixating instead on his plate, the newspaper, buttons on his shirt, his breakfast, or anything else that could hold his attention.

Harry bit his tongue on several angry questions and resigned himself to the black mood quickly descending.

At the Ministry, Draco dropped into his chair, pulled out his journal, and began to write as though his life depended upon it, ignoring Harry entirely. Harry glared and busied himself catching up on correspondence and reading the pile of origami memos that had accumulated on his desk. The usual string of visitors funnelled through his office, wishing him good morning and catching up on political gossip. Draco pretended to ignore them all, but Harry could see his quill pause whenever something interesting was mentioned.

Ron sauntered in with a bag of pastries he dropped on Harry's desk. He spoke through a mouthful of flaky dough and dribbled crumbs down his chest, brushing them off idly as he asked about Harry's weekend.

"Morning, Malfoy," he added after a minute or two.

Draco's grunted reply had Ron cocking his head at Harry and jerking a questioning thumb in Draco's direction. Harry shook his head and shrugged in response, gratified to know that he wasn't the only one aware of Draco's perplexing mood. Ron cast him a thoughtful glance and then filled Harry in on the details of a case they'd been working on together before Harry had taken on the burden of Draco. Harry pushed away the pang of regret he felt at no longer being involved, although it was becoming easier.

"Also, Kingsley wants to know what you were doing in High Ashbury last Friday."

Harry nearly spit out the pastry he'd been chewing. He swallowed and threw Ron a look. "Just looking into something."

"With Malfoy."

"Of course with Malf--with Draco. It wasn't a big deal. Nothing dangerous."

"Digging around an old murder case could be dangerous."

"Whose side are you on?" Harry muttered.

"Just passing along a message, mate. You know you'll get a worse earful if Hermione finds out. Kingsley just suggests you don't do anything stupid."

"But he didn't forbid me to go."

"Naw. I think he knows you're going a bit stir crazy." Ron had lowered his voice, but it was obvious from the venomous look Draco sent his way that he'd overheard. Harry nearly flinched.

"Thanks, Ron."

"Yeah, I'd best go pour some tea down Whipple's throat and see if I can get his arse moving. Lazy prat is impossible in the morning." His tone spoke volumes; he missed having Harry as a partner. Harry smiled, his spirits lifting at the reminder.

"Good luck with that." He laughed.

Ron gave a vague wave to Draco and departed, passing Bertram on his way in.

"Good morning, Auror Potter! I've brought a spot of breakfast… Oh, I see you already have some. Oh well, you might get hungry later." A long, pregnant pause followed and then he added a gruff, "Good day, Mr Malfoy."

"Fuck off, Bertram," Draco replied.

Bertram puffed up like an affronted rooster. "Honestly! Auror Potter, are you--?"

"Just let it go," Harry said. After the wretched weekend, Harry had no desire to mediate between Draco and his unwanted assistant.

"As you wish, but some people could learn to be less rude." Bertram's eyes flashed and he dropped a file on Harry's desk. "Here are some items requiring your signature. I will return for them in thirty minutes if you like."

"That will be fine, Bertram. Thank you."

Bertram nodded like a house-elf. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Draco muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Why not just get on your knees and suck him off and be done with it?" so Harry quickly shuffled some papers to hopefully cover the aside. He spoke a trifle too-loudly when he said, "Thank you, but no. See you later."

Bertram's face was flushed and the stare he threw in Draco's direction was murderous, but he spun on a heel and stalked out.

"Must you constantly bait him?" Harry demanded.

Instead of engaging, Draco only made a noncommittal sound and continued to write in his journal. Harry gnashed his teeth and dragged the file closer before signing the papers therein with unnecessary savagery. Scrawling ink on official papers did nothing to ease his growing annoyance, and when the ink bottle began to rattle on the desk he forced himself to relax and think of happier things, like crup puppies and butterflies. The ridiculousness of trying to conjure cuddly creatures in lieu of throwing an ink bottle at Draco eased his irritation and he got through the paper-signing without mishap.

When he was relatively calm again, he tossed the completed file into his Outbox for Bertram to retrieve and then looked over at Draco. "I thought we might try to track down Syed Kapur. We know he attended Beauxbatons before he returned to England. It's possible we can locate some of his relatives, either in France or here. Since we seem to have unspoken approval from Kingsley…"

"Whatever you want," Draco replied in a bland tone without ceasing his writing.

Harry's blood heated again to a low simmer and his lips thinned. "Great. I'll just try to drum up an address for us to start with, shall I?"

"Fine."

Harry snatched the case file out of the drawer with a muttered oath and hoped the initial Aurors had at least identified someone connected with Syed. He was still amazed at the lousy documentation surrounding the case. Looking back, he suspected it was likely due to the fact that few people had cared about Luther Frizzo and his former gang. They had been lonely, almost insignificant people, missed by few when they were gone. It was sad and depressing but served only to fuel Harry's need for justice. Just because they didn't have friends and tended to be bullies didn't mean they had deserved to be murdered. It didn't mean their killer should be allowed to walk free for thirty years.

He glanced over at Draco and wondered if he would have the same outlook on justice. Given his present bizarre mood, Harry doubted it. More likely Draco was only interested in the case as a means of breaking his own curse, not that Harry blamed him for that.

Miraculously, the file turned up the name and address of Syed's mother. She had been living in France at the time of Syed's murder. With any luck, she would still be there.

"Hey, do you speak French?" Harry asked.

"Of course."

"Good. Because we're going to…" He checked the file. "Argeles-Gazost."

Draco corrected his mangled pronunciation with only a hint of superiority.

"Yeah. There. Let's go get a Portkey. It will be faster than Apparating."

Draco closed his journal, locked it, and dropped the key back beneath his shirt. Harry led the way to the International Portkey office without another word.

oooOOOooo

_**Traumatic as it was, the bloodiest confrontation between Potter and I has left deeper scars on my body than on my psyche. At the time it was almost a relief. I remember sobbing in the bathroom, the tears wrenched from my very soul as I contemplated the cost of failure, wallowing in my inability to fix that wretched cabinet. I should have known he would turn up, due to his propensity for following me everywhere that year. Even so, it was a surprise to look into the mirror and see him there, and to have him, of all people, witnessing my weakest moment… Frankly, I panicked. My rage was too great to contain and I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to kill him, but even then I did not have the fortitude to cast the ultimate Unforgiveable. I chose pain instead, hurling a Crucio that was, much to my later regret, the first of many. It had no hope of connecting. Potter's speed was unbelievable and his use of the brutal slashing spell ended our confrontation nearly before it began. I remember my lifeblood spilling out onto the bathroom floor as I stared at the ceiling beams. I remember thinking, "This is it, then" and wanting to laugh at the idea of dying in a bathroom at the hands of Harry Potter. It seemed fitting, somehow, the culmination of all of my hopes and dreams, shattered in a single moment by a spoken word and the will of the eventual slayer of the Dark Lord. As I said, it was almost a relief to see the end of it--no more stress, no more unfixable cabinet, no more fear, and no more pain. And then Professor Snape was there. I shall never forget Harry Potter's face as he stared down at me. I always wondered why he looked so regretful, although at the time I'd callously considered it to be little more than guilt.** _

Draco slammed the book shut and resolutely closed the door on his memory. It would not do to get maudlin and soft where Potter was concerned. Draco followed him to the Portkey office and listened to him charm the witch on duty into giving him a Portkey to France. Draco gnawed his cheek as the woman simpered at Potter, obviously flustered and unable to suppress a nervous giggle.

_ Bloody hell, woman _ , Draco thought snidely,  _ he isn't that attractive. _ That was a lie, but Draco refused to acknowledge such thoughts any longer.

The Portkey was a broken handle from a coffee mug, charmed to activate at a spell rather than a set time. They would be able to return whenever they liked. Draco knew nothing about the Pyrenees region, and his French was rusty. He only used it when his mother felt like practicing and insisted on speaking it at the dinner table. Draco knew seven different ways to say "pass the salt" but he doubted he'd remember how to ask for directions.

Argeles-Gazost was a quaint, peaceful village that vaguely reminded Draco of Hogsmeade. They wandered around like tourists, refusing to ask for directions, and it took them quite some time to locate the address. The quaint duplex cottage was bordered by a low, stone wall and the tiny side garden looked well-tended with a riotous number of colourful flowers. A vine reached out and took hold of Draco's sleeve as he passed. No amount of tugging would free it and Draco snarled at his lack of magic. He'd like nothing more than to show the pesky plant what an  _ Incendio _ could do.

Potter noticed he wasn't following and turned back. He tsked and twitched a finger; the vine released instantly and retreated back to coil around the fence slats. It appeared to be sulking.

"I think it likes you," Potter commented, but he turned away before Draco could comment. Draco sneered at his back.

A small, white-haired woman answered the door after multiple knocks. Her robes had an Indian influence, wrapped sari-like instead of hooded. The fabric was rough and it had obviously been washed more times than was prudent, but it hung in neat folds on her frame and every pleat was measure-perfect.

Potter went through the same sympathetic spiel he had used in High Ashbury and the woman's open, friendly countenance closed up into one of distrust and old, worn grief. "I have no wish to speak to you," she said.

"Please, we…" Potter trailed off. He held out a hand, but she was already backing away, entering the interior and beginning to close the door.

Draco stepped forward and spoke in smooth French, hoping he wasn't mangling the language beyond comprehension. “I know this is difficult for you, but he is trying to help. We know it is too late and that nothing can heal your wounds, but your son's killer has been walking the earth, unpunished, for too long.” Or something to that effect. Draco hoped she picked up the gist of it.

She shook her head, eyes hollow. "No one helped my Syed when he was killed. No one listened to me when I cried for justice. No one cared. Now I do not care. I will let the gods deliver justice, for no man has seen fit to do so. Go back to England and leave me in peace."

Neither of them stopped her this time and the door shut with a firm click. Potter said nothing; he turned away, shoulders slouching in defeat. Draco thought it must be a thankless job at times, reopening old wounds. They exited through the gate--Draco avoided the grasping plant this time, as it apparently hadn't learnt its lesson--and started down the cobbled street.

"That was rather fruitless," Potter said. Draco wasn't sure whether to agree, make a sarcastic observation, or simply ignore Potter as he'd been doing lately.

"Monsieur! Wait, Monsieur!"

They turned at the sound of a woman's voice and running footsteps. She hurried up to them, dressed in robes similar to those of Syed's mother. Her hair was covered in a long, looped headscarf, and her dark eyes were enormous. She was breathless when she caught up to them.

"I heard you talking to maman. About Syed. I had to go out the back so she would not hear me. Are you really trying to find Syed's killer?"

"Yes. We were hoping to find out something about the time Syed lived in High Ashbury. You are…?"

"His sister. Half-sister. I was only twelve when he was killed. Syed left home when I was small."

Potter looked sober. "You never lived in High Ashbury, then?"

"I was born there, but I don't remember it. I was only a babe when we moved here. But I might be able to help."

"How?"

"Syed had a journal. It was found in his things after he died. I sometimes read it when I am lonely and thinking about him. He was good to me, even though I was little more than a nuisance to him. He used to bring me trinkets during the holidays." Her smile was a phantom, barely there and quickly vanished. "Anyway, I don't know if it will be any good to you, but he sometimes wrote about the others that were killed near the same time as him, his childhood friends."

"That would be brilliant. Thank you!"

She nodded. "I will send it. I only ask that you return it when you are finished with it. I have little to remind me of Syed. It is hard to believe I am now much older than he was when he died."

Potter handed her a card that he'd Conjured with a flick of his fingers. "You can send it to me. I promise to return it in the same condition. And thank you again."

She nodded and stepped away. "I hope you find the responsible ones. My brother did not deserve to die so young. Goodbye." She turned and hurried back down the lane. Potter watched until she was out of sight.

"Let's get back," he said and pulled out the Portkey.

Draco nodded and reached out to grip the bit of porcelain. The day seemed far darker than it had earlier.


	20. CHAPTER NINETEEN - Building a wall

_**“Even if you stumble, you’re still moving forward.”** _

_**~ Anonymous** _

The rest of the afternoon passed in near-absolute silence. Harry sat at his desk and drew doodles on parchment, trying not to think about dying alone and friendless. Draco said nothing and merely returned to his journal, but the scratching of his quill had long pauses between and he frequently brushed the feathered end against his mouth with a soft _whup whup whup_ sound that Harry found strangely comforting.

Bertram entered twice, once bringing Harry a stack of files and once bearing a paper-wrapped package sealed with the fleur-de-lis symbol of the French owl post. Harry sat up straight away and Bertram hovered, but Harry gave him a pointed look. He had no intention of humouring Bertram's curiosity, no matter how much doing so might irritate Draco.

Finally catching the hint, Bertram pulled a moue of obvious pique and flounced out. Draco had stopped writing again and his grey stare was intense but unreadable.

Harry carefully opened the paper and took out the journal. The cover was stiff black leather, scuffed and scratched, and with an embedded layer of grime that followed the slight indentations in the leather, probably caused by sitting neglected in boxes or on shelves. There was a metal hasp but no lock. A wordless _Alohomora_ caused it to snap open and Harry cracked the diary open carefully. He unwittingly thought back to another diary, one with blank pages, and could not suppress a small exhalation of relief when he found a childish, loopy script covering the yellowed pages.

**_Today we threw rocks into the river. We tried to hit the ducks, but they flew away. Luther said we should throw rocks at Old Man Carpenter or maybe Loser, but it was too hot to walk all the way across town and Loser was in hiding. Too warm to go and hunt him down. I wish it would rain._ **

Harry flipped ahead a few pages.

_**Mum says I shouldn't play with Luther anymore, even though I told her my bloody nose was an accident. Luther is a right prick, but if I'm not friends with him anymore then who would I be friends with? No one, that's who. And then Luther would beat me up every day like he does Loser.** _

_**Sometimes I wish we had never left Marseilles. I miss Henri and Josephine. They were nice to me, not mean like Luther and Tash.** _

Several pages contained angry rants about keeping his room tidy. Many times he had been placed on restriction. On one page Syed had written _**I HATE LUTHER FRIZZO!** _ repeatedly, taking up more than half the page and growing blotchy and near-unreadable towards the end. He had tacked on a couple of _**I hate Peyton!** _ at the end.

The next page read _**Luther bought some ice mice and shared them with us. I guess sometimes he's not so bad.** _

Harry kept reading, cringing at times at the painful, angst-ridden words of a child desperate for friendship. Harry gnawed his lip until he tasted blood and then he pushed the journal aside, knowing he was becoming too invested. Syed's past was not his own, despite the fact that many of the words could have been written by him as a ten-year-old, crying silently under the stairs in his cupboard.

He nearly snorted aloud at the thought with a sardonic twitch of his lips. Harry hadn't had the luxury of keeping a diary into which to expel his hopes and fears. If Dudley had even suspected Harry of keeping a diary, he would have relentlessly sought it out and used every word against him. Old, never-quite-forgotten anxiety twisted Harry's stomach and he swallowed hard. "I need a cup of tea," he said.

Draco shrugged and went through his usual procedure of locking up his journal and tucking the key into his shirt.

"In fact, let's just go home. I can look this over there as well as here."

Draco shut the drawer he'd opened and held onto his journal instead, dropping his robes over his arm and half-concealing it as he stood. He followed Harry down to the Atrium and said nothing when they stepped into the flames to return to Harry's flat. Too depressed to deal with Draco, Harry took the stairs the moment they returned and secluded himself in his room.

He sprawled on his bed and dredged up maudlin memories of his past until he felt quite sorry for himself, and then he wallowed in guilt for making everything about him when Syed had been the one to die, and Draco Malfoy was the one without magic. Harry had everything now: brilliant friends, an excellent job, and a hoard of people who cared about him. Pining for a happy childhood, especially at his age, was ridiculous. He turned his thoughts to Draco and wondered again what had changed. Harry considered calling Healer Tru and having her take a look at Draco, or at least try and talk with him to determine why he was suddenly so closed-off and prickly. If it were something physical and he was hiding it, for whatever reason, then Harry was more than willing to force the issue. He frowned, knowing that such a move would not improve his relationship with Draco, not that they had much of a relationship right now. Draco seemed as if he would rather be anywhere else on earth than with Harry.

He sighed. Perhaps he should start with Narcissa Malfoy rather than Tru. Surely she would know if there was something wrong with her son that might require attention. He resolved to send her an owl.

With renewed focus, Harry rearranged his pillows, propped himself more comfortably, and dove back into Syed's journal, this time with the intention of finding some sort of clue that might help them track down the Tattoo Killer.

oooOOOooo

Draco's mood was not improved the next day. If anything, it seemed even worse. He exuded a cold silence as he drank his coffee and nibbled on the toast Harry had made, answering Harry's cheerful "Good Morning" with a sarcastic-sounding grunt and a shrug of his shoulders. Harry felt an answering anger stir within so he stuffed his mouth full of jam-smeared toast in order to keep from snarling. He had meant to point out a possible lead he'd discovered in the diary the previous night, but Draco's chilly standoffishness did not leave Harry in the mood to share.

It wasn't much, anyway. Syed's diary frequently referred to someone he'd called "Loser" that seemed to frequently have been a favourite target of Luther Frizzo and his gang. Considering the level of bullying "Loser" had received - _**Today Luther split Loser's robe down the back at the Solstice parade. He had on ratty underpants with bears on them and Ginger Robbins saw them before Loser could run away. We all laughed for an hour.**_ and _ **We caught Luther down at the brook and Luther tied him to a tree and smeared honey on his head to attract bees. Peyton gagged him with a dirty sock when he wouldn't stop screaming.**_ \- it would be no surprise if the boy had nursed a decades-long grudge that had eventually led to murder.

Sometimes Harry wondered how he would have turned out if not for his Hogwarts letter. How would he have held up to years of Dudley's bullying without the blissful escape of Hogwarts, his friends, and magic to look forward to?

He glanced at Draco, who sipped his coffee with an unfocussed stare at the floor, apparently lost in his own thoughts, as usual. Harry heaved a mental sigh and knew he was in for another long, bleak day.

Things only grew worse from there. Harry tripped over his own feet on the way to the fireplace, dropped his favourite mug, and watched it crash onto the floor, spilling coffee everywhere. He spelled the mess clean and cast an absent Repairing Charm on the mug, but he'd really wanted that coffee and hadn't the time to make another pot.

Once in the Atrium at the Ministry, they ran smack-dab into Horace Slughorn shepherding a group of seventh-year Hogwarts students. Slughorn fawned over Harry with his booming voice and kept shaking his hand and posing for photographs whilst telling the students all about Harry's part in the war and embellishing upon his own, despite the fact that the youths were allegedly touring the Department of Mysteries (or a tiny, guided portion of it) to learn about some mysterious potion ingredients. Draco stood as far from Harry as possible, arms crossed and glowering.

Harry extricated himself as quickly as he was able, after scrawling a few autographs, and continued on to Level One. Bertram was already waiting outside the door, holding a large sheaf of papers.

"Good morning, Auror Potter! We've got a bit of an emergency, I'm afraid. Auror Weasley has asked if you wouldn't mind sorting through these to see if you might assist. He's gone to Cardiff to investigate."

Harry remembered to fumble his wand out of his pocket before unlocking the door. It was bad enough that he kept using wandless magic around Draco without letting Bertram in on his secret. He took the armload of papers and dropped them onto his desk. "Investigate what?"

"Poisoning case. Multiple victims. Those there are records from all the Cardiff apothecaries and potion dealers. Auror Weasley requests that you search for anyone selling Sorbus anglica berries. That's apparently a rare ingredient."

Harry tried not to look as unenthused as he felt. Sorting through hundreds of records was one of the worst bits of his job. He didn't blame Ron for pawning it off on him, except that he sort of did, the prat. Bloody hell. He threw an absent glare at Draco, allowing himself a selfish moment to blame Draco for entering his life and causing him to miss out on the exciting parts of his job in exchange for added paperwork, unexplainable mood swings, and days of a near-silent treatment. Draco caught the glare and returned it with an added sneer.

"Thank you, Bertram," Harry said a trifle sharper than intended.

"Do you need anything else?"

"A fucking cup of coffee would be great."

Bertram spun and headed for the door. "I shall be right back."

The door closed behind him and Draco growled, "No, nothing for me, thank you, Bertram, you unmitigated arse."

Harry gave him an innocuous eyebrow lift and Draco snapped his jaw shut and wrenched open his journal. Soon the office was filled with the sounds of a quill scratching on parchment and the turning of Harry's pages. Bertram returned with Harry's coffee and left again at Harry's insistence that he was fine and needed nothing additional. The coffee tasted like swill in comparison to the delicious blend preferred by Draco and crafted from their Muggle machine at home. Harry braved a few swallows and then shoved it aside in distaste.

Five minutes later he got a paper cut on his index finger, deep enough that blood welled from the gash and dripped onto his desk. He swore and hunted in his drawers for a plaster; he was pants at healing spells. As he wrapped the bandage around his wound, he glanced up to find Draco watching him.

"At times I wonder how you've managed to stay alive this long."

His drawling tone had Harry muttering as he cast a spell to erase the blood; of course he Vanished half his desktop while doing so. Thankfully, Draco had gone back to his journal and hadn't seemed to notice, so Harry quickly restored it with a couple of carefully muttered spells. The wood grain on the patch didn't match and it was obvious something had happened to it, but it would suffice until Harry could have it properly repaired. He would leave a note for Bertram just before they left for the day.

With wound and desk tended to, Harry returned to the files. After an hour of scanning logbooks--some written so illegibly that they might as well have been written in Ancient Runic--Harry was struggling to stay awake. He yawned hugely and scanned another column.

A minute, repetitive squeaking noise penetrated his haze of dullness and he glanced up with a frown. Draco was leant back in his chair, feet up on his desk and crossed at the ankles, and he was tapping one expensive black boot against the other. The movement barely made a sound, but it caused his chair to bounce ever so slightly, resulting in a tiny _squeak squeak squeak_.

Harry sighed heavily and returned to his ledgers, hoping Draco would tire of the motion and go back to his writing. As he sat and squeaked, Draco stared at the ceiling and flicked at his lips with his quill, apparently lost in thought.

After fifteen minutes, the sound had grown in Harry's mind until it resembled the sawing of a tiny blade upon his quickly fraying nerves.

"Can you please," he bellowed finally, "STOP?"

Draco's head swivelled round and he stared at Harry. "Stop what?"

"That infernal squeaking noise. It's driving me mad."

Draco's nose wrinkled. "What squeaking noise? And you are already mad."

"Your bloody chair! And yes, I am mad. Mad-angry and rapidly becoming mad-insane, thanks to you!"

"Thanks to me? What have I done? I've been over here quietly minding my own affairs whilst you do your oh-so-important Auror research." Draco's lips twitched at the last, giving the words a sardonic spin that set Harry's blood back to full boil from the simmer it had maintained throughout the day.

"It _is_ important! Although you probably don't care at all about people being poisoned."

"Why should I? Some people deserve to be poisoned."

Harry glared at him and Draco glared back. "I'm going to pretend you don't mean that," Harry said. "Since you seem to enjoy talking out of your arse."

"Do I?" Draco snarled and swung his feet down from the desk. He stood and marched over to one of the boxes of random files that had been placed in the room. A goodly stack had grown over the past couple of weeks, both from Harry's research and, he suspected, from neighbouring offices that had found a convenient place to store things.

Draco manhandled the box into the centre of the room and dropped it with a bang.

"What are you doing?"

Draco ignored him and grabbed another box, and then another. After the sixth box, it was clear that he was building a wall of boxes between their desks. It was also apparent that he was tiring.

"Oh, so you want a fucking wall, do you?" Harry snarled. He picked up his wand and cast a spell, sending a metal filing cabinet shooting from the wall across the room to slam into Draco's stacked boxes. The topmost box teetered and fell over. Draco righted it without a word and went for another one.

Harry crashed a second cabinet into the first and Draco piled boxes atop them both. He was sweating profusely and his hair fell over his brow in tangled strands. Harry felt vicious satisfaction at riling Draco enough to thoroughly muss his usual unruffled attire.

"Are you happy now?" Harry yelled when the final box banged into place, obscuring Draco from view.

"Not until I can't hear your stupid voice!" Draco retorted.

Furious, Harry got to his feet. "That can be arranged!" He levelled his wand, but did not bother to speak, so intent upon building the world's strongest Silencing Spell that he didn't need words. Unfortunately, something went wrong.

Draco's makeshift wall exploded. Papers flew into the air and the filing cabinets flung apart and crashed into opposite walls; one of them twisted and fell over with a screech of metal. Draco's desk skid across the floor and banged into the wall furthest from Harry. Luckily Draco had regained his seat--the chair propelled backwards with force and careened off the wall near the desk, the strength of it sending Draco's feet out from under him in a fashion that might have been comical if Harry had been in the mood to laugh.

"Enjoying my magic?" Draco asked, his snarl wiping the surprised look from his face. "Maybe someone should teach you how to control it!"

Harry felt a pang, a bit stunned that his spell had gone so far awry. Bits of paper still fluttered in the air. "They don't--"

"Maybe you should get Granger to help you since she's going to fix everything else that's wrong with your _terrible life_."

Harry staggered back and sank into his chair, thoughts whirling at Draco's bitter words. Everything suddenly became clear as glass, from Draco's prickly anger to his recent need to stay as far from Harry as possible. He cast his thoughts back to Friday night and tried to recall exactly what he'd said to Hermione that would have set Draco off. It came back to him with sudden, sickening clarity.

_I don’t know how much longer I can live with him._

And Draco had overheard him.

"Oh god," Harry said. He looked up and met Draco's eyes. "Draco, I…"

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. He seemed weary, as if their fight had siphoned his energy. It probably had, as he'd been manually hefting boxes full of paper. "Just shut up. I'm sick of--"

The door banged open and Bertram stood in the doorway, panting. "Auror Potter! Someone reported a commotion and… What in the nine hells has happened in here? Were you attacked?" Bertram pulled out his wand as if to take on an invisible enemy.

Harry lifted a hand. "No. Never mind, Bertram. One of my spells went awry. It's nothing."

Bertram gaped, still staring at the wreckage. "It doesn't look like nothing."

"It's nothing." Harry shook off his epiphany and schooled his voice into Auror-mode. "I'll take care of it. Thank you."

Bertram seemed to start at his tone, and then he put his wand away with a curt nod. "If you're certain." He peered suspiciously at Harry for a moment, as though checking to see if he'd been hit with an Imperius Charm.

"I am."

"Very well, then. Call if you need anything."

"I will."

When Bertram went out, Harry surveyed the mess. It would take ages to set it to rights. He sighed and simply swept up all the papers into a huge stack with a sweeping gesture. The cabinets he returned to their original positions and attempted to restore the mangled one with limited success. Draco pushed his desk away from the wall with a determined cast to his features, and Harry resisted the urge to help him.

When the office was as back to normal as Harry could get it without going through every bit of parchment, he dragged his chair forwards and scanned the apothecary ledgers with determination. The sooner he found the potential dealers of Sorbus anglica berries, the sooner he could turn his mind to squaring things with Draco.

He had a feeling the former would be much easier than the latter.

oooOOOooo

When they reached the flat that evening, Potter went straight to his room without a by-your-leave and Draco was fine with that. Although he would never admit it, he felt slightly shaken by Potter's display of wordless rage. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Potter had taken out the world's most powerful evil wizard. Draco might do well to keep it in mind.

He poured a glass of wine and thought about Potter, standing amidst the wreckage, eyes wild, jaw set, looking surprised and… bloody brilliant.

Draco shut his eyes and pressed the cool wine glass to his forehead, rolling it over his skin as if to cure his growing headache through osmosis. Fucking Potter. Fucking Potter and his fucking intensely green eyes and his stupid messy hair and his lean, hard body that crackled with power every time he flexed a fucking bicep. Draco lowered the glass with a muttered oath and took a gulp. It was no proper way to drink fine wine, but he thought straight Firewhisky or brandy might be a bad idea. There was no telling what he might say to Potter under the influence. He had nearly loosed an emotional wellspring earlier. Thank Merlin that bloody imbecile, Bertram, had rushed to Potter's aid.

Draco snorted at the thought of Bertram. If Bertram wasn't in love with Potter, then he was certainly in love with the _idea_ of Potter. Draco supposed there wasn't much difference in the end.

His stomach growled, reminding him that Potter had worked through lunch, sending Bertram to fetch them substandard sandwiches and weak tea from the Ministry canteen. Draco was famished. Likely Potter was, as well, but he wasn't Draco's problem. Draco opened the pantry door and mentally sorted through his cookery books. He was too exhausted from his earlier physical endeavours to bother with anything labour-intensive. A simple vegetable frittata should fill his needs.

He quickly chopped some spinach and tomato and then minced a sprig of basil and some garlic. The fire on the cooker lit easily, thank Salazar, and Draco sprinkled olive oil into the heating pan before retrieving the eggs from the cold box. He cracked four of them into a bowl and beat them--possibly with more force than necessary--and poured the mixture into the hot skillet.

He frowned when he realized he'd forgotten the turning utensil--it was fun to poke the eggs during the cooking process--and he pushed at the skillet handle to position it over the cooker. Potter had taught him never to cook with the handle pointing outwards where it would be easy to bang into.

"Need any help?" a voice asked directly behind Draco and he jolted with surprise. His arm jerked. The skillet skid across the cooker's surface and Draco's wrist grazed the metal edge; he snatched his hand back with a yelp of pain.

"Oh shit!" Potter's voice was nearly as loud as Draco's. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"

Draco turned round to fix a glare on Potter. After the initial sting, he barely felt anything at all. For certain, the wound was minor, nothing to get excited about. Draco lifted his wrist to examine the tiny red line and then the pain seemed to return in a rush.

"Let me see it." Potter reached out and grabbed Draco's wrist. He extinguished the flame on the cooker with a murmur. The touch of his fingers was nearly as disturbing as the burn and Draco tugged ineffectually, hoping to free himself.

"I'm fine," Draco said, even though the burn was now like a searing blade across his skin, reaching out miniature fingers of heat to claw and scrape at the surrounding areas.

"You are not fine. Damn it, I am wretched at healing spells, but let me see if I can't at least give you some relief. We learned initial aid in Auror training for a reason." Potter's grip tightened while his other hand traced gentle fingers over Draco's wrist, nearing the wound, but not quite touching it. "Hold still." Before Draco could speak, Potter whispered an incantation and a ghost of magic wafted over his skin, light as a summer breeze and as cool as the glass Draco had pressed to his forehead earlier. The burning sensation eased and mellowed, and then faded entirely. For a moment Draco thought Potter might be able to cure the curse that kept him trapped here, cure it and fix everything without half trying.

Potter's fingers drew delicate, comforting circles on Draco's skin and his earnest eyes bored into Draco's. "Any better?" he asked in a hushed tone, as though speaking in a normal tone might worsen the effects of a burn.

Draco nodded without dropping his gaze from Potter's. He should probably say "thank you" or something, despite the fact that Potter's sneaking had caused Draco's injury to begin with. Draco knew he should be the bigger man and express an appropriate level of gratitude before pulling free and escaping; because he needed to escape Potter, escape his enormous eyes and concerned expression, and especially Potter's touch, which was far worse than any burn, setting fire to Draco's nerve endings with every stroke and swirl and delicate, gentle sweep of skin upon skin.

"Good," Potter murmured and stepped closer. Draco's heart seemed to leap into his throat and his pulse rate doubled. His thoughts became a tangled jumble of confusion and he was unable to process the fact that Potter was stood mere inches away now, his breath mingling with Draco's, green eyes so close that Draco could not quite focus on them properly.

Potter leaned closer still and Draco struggled to pull enough air into his lungs to maintain life. The world seemed to slow into timelessness and freeze into a moment that drew every breath into a decades-long endeavour.

 _He means to kiss me_ , Draco thought and the single stroke of rationality whipped through his brain like a bolt of lightning. Draco wanted to move, but forward or back he wasn't certain, and his body refused to obey the frantic urging of his cerebral impulses. His eyes fluttered closed in anticipation, but then his stasis seemed to crack apart. Air flooded into his lungs on a gasp and he opened his eyes. Potter was moving away, eyes wide, fingers gone so quickly from Draco's wrist he might have been the one burned.

"I…" Potter stuttered. "I, uh…"

Draco blinked and realised that the strange lethargy still enveloped him. He struggled to move, to do…something.

"I have to go," Potter blurted and then he turned and fled, so quickly that Draco might have suspected him of Apparating if not for the sound of his feet bounding up the stairs.

Draco sagged against the countertop.

Potter had almost kissed him.

Potter had almost.

Kissed.

Him.

Draco stared at the empty doorway, barely able to process it. The revelation was difficult to accept. For days Draco had been operating under the assumption that Potter could not wait to be free of him. But what if that assumption was wrong? Draco drew a shaking hand through his hair, heart thudding wildly. Vastly, wildly wrong?

What if the reason Potter demanded the spell to be broken was that _Potter_ _wanted him_?

A few deep, steadying breaths helped him move the idea from the realm of impossible to that of vaguely plausible. He glanced at the frittata, which had cooked to perfection in the still-hot pan. Draco slid it onto a plate and carried it to the dining table. His thoughts were awhirl.

If it were true, Draco had no idea what to do about it. Salazar, he hadn't even noticed that Potter had been fighting an attraction. How could he not have noticed? Draco shook his head. He chewed absently on his dinner, barely tasting it. He decided it was probably because Potter was a Gryffindor. Draco had only been wooed in the past by Slytherins (and remarkably few of those, truth be told). Although Slytherins were considered to be stealthy and underhanded, known for scheming and subterfuge, when it came to affairs of the heart they were remarkably straightforward. In their fourth year at Hogwarts, Pansy had marched directly up to Draco and announced that he should become her boyfriend as it would be mutually advantageous to them both. Despite his misgivings, he had agreed, and it had been made known to all other Slytherins that they were off-limits to others.

If anyone else had been interested, there would have been a delightful scramble behind the scenes as would-be suitors schemed to break them up, but everyone would have known about it and side-bets would have been placed. Blaise had tried for years to slither his way into Draco's bed, and everyone in Slytherin House had known it, especially Draco. Likewise, Theo Nott and Pansy had had a bizarre "friendship" and all of their friends knew they were stupidly smitten with one another--including Pansy and Theo--but they all chose to pretend otherwise, at least until they ended up in bed together, at which time everyone would feign surprise and say they "never saw it coming" and then secretly feel smug because, of course, they had. And so had everyone else.

Gryffindors, however, were another matter entirely. They were erratic, impulsive, and had the tendency to flit from relationship to relationship without a moment's thought for how they might end up in a year, or ten years. Draco doubted any of them had ever lain awake at night weighing the social and political pros and cons of a romantic alliance, or cursing the social suicide that would result from an inconvenient crush.

Draco wondered if Potter had thought at all about what a romance with him would involve, or even a casual sexual entanglement, which was a far more likely scenario. The thought of a sexual entanglement with Potter derailed Draco's thoughts for a moment and he had to place his fork on the plate or risk stabbing himself with the tines until his heart-rate returned to normal. 

He shakily picked up the utensil and resumed eating.

It was entirely possible that Potter wasn't even aware of his attraction to Draco. What had prompted it, after all? Was Draco so overwhelmingly attractive that Potter had suddenly given up heteronormativity and switched teams? Or was Potter simply bi-curious? Were Potter's feelings a result of his need to save Draco, enhanced by their forced proximity? Was it exacerbated by the fact that Draco's magic now resided in Potter? What if Draco's magic simply yearned to return to him, and Potter was being carried along? Were Potter's feelings even his own? The spell they had used was experimental; they had no way of knowing the side-effects.

Draco dropped his fork onto his plate again, unable to finish the last few bites. His first inclination was to walk upstairs and demand the truth from Potter. "Did you actually try to kiss me?" But that might lead to Gryffindor truth-telling, which was definitely not the same as Slytherin truth-telling. There was no way to anticipate what Potter would do if confronted. Would he take refuge in denial like a cornered wolf? What if Potter did not _want to_ want him? Based on his firecall to Granger, he was desperately fighting the attraction. His friends--and dear Merlin, the press--would make life utter hell if Potter as much as hinted that he and Draco were more than platonic roommates. Would he back out of the spell and demand that Draco find someone else to hold his magic? The uncomfortable truth there was that Draco did not want anyone else. Not anymore.

Draco took his plate back to the kitchen and placed it in the sink. The best thing to do, he decided, was to ignore Potter's silly attraction. He needed to focus on nothing more than surviving the next few months and getting his life back. After that…well, if there was an after that, Draco would deal with it when the time came. In the meantime, he supposed it would be easier if he stopped treating Potter like a jilted ex-lover.

oooOOOooo

Harry sat on the bed with his head in his hands.

What the hell?

_What the hell had that been?_

Was he completely stupid? He had nearly _kissed_ Draco. The same Draco who was back to treating Harry like he was lower than squid droppings, or slug slime, or some other foul substance found on the bottoms of shoes or the darkest dankest corners of a potions cabinet.

Harry was bloody lucky Draco had no access to magic or he would probably be nursing testicles the size of Bludgers.

"I am a complete, bollocking idiot."

He listened carefully and heard the small sounds of Draco below stairs, apparently finishing his dinner. Harry was still hungry--he'd gone down to join Draco for a meal, after all, and to possibly try and mend some fences--THAT HAD GONE WELL--but now he knew he couldn't eat a bite with his stomach twisted into knots.

Mentally shouting at himself wasn't fixing things. He wasn't sure what would.

He supposed he should go downstairs and apologise. Perhaps he could make up a plausible story. "Sorry, I didn't mean to nearly kiss you, I was just looking into your eyes for the first time in days and sort of…fell in. Your irises have tiny dark flecks amongst the pale silver. Did you know?"

Harry winced and added a couple of mental slaps and a shake to the shouting.

"That is not helping," he muttered. "Not helping at all."

The sound of Draco's chair scraping on the floor below had Harry sitting up in renewed panic. He heard the muted clatter of a plate dropping into the sink, and then footsteps in the hall…and on the stairs.

 _He'll go to his room_ , Harry thought, heart pounding. _He'll go to his room and lock himself in just like he's done for days._

But Draco did not go to his room. He walked down the hallway and stopped in Harry's doorway. Harry stared at him, trying not to look like the proverbial deer in headlights.

"Hey." Draco's voice was soft, as it hadn't been in days.

"I'm sorry," Harry blurted.

Draco moved into the room. "Not your fault. It was my own clumsiness. Thank you for healing it." He flexed his arm and Harry's eyes were drawn to the still-red patch.

"Oh. You're welcome." To Harry's surprise, Draco sat down on the bed next to him. Not close, but not so far that he seemed unfriendly. In fact, it was the closest they had been to one another since Harry's ill-timed Floo-call to Hermione, other than the incident in the kitchen.

"Look, I've been a real bastard lately and I want to… I want to apologise," Draco said. Harry must have looked as flummoxed as he felt because Draco actually laughed. "Oh, don't give me that. I've apologised before."

"Well, yeah, but…" Harry wasn't quite sure how to finish the sentence.

Draco nodded. "Just don't grow to expect it."

Harry's lips twitched in a smile. "I won't. So, um…friends?" He stuck out his hand awkwardly.

Draco caught and held his gaze for a moment and then nodded and looked down as he clasped Harry's hand. "Friends. Now, get your arse downstairs and help me find the missing bit of sky on this puzzle or it will never be finished."

"I already looked for it," Harry grumbled as their hands tightened and then fell away when they both stood. Harry felt such a profound relief that he was almost lightheaded. Not only had Draco chosen to ignore the almost-kiss, but it seemed he was finally willing for things to go back to normal between them.

Then again, perhaps he hadn't even noticed that Harry had been about to kiss him. That was almost worrying in itself; either Draco was utterly oblivious or Harry was clumsier than he'd thought…but he certainly wasn't planning to ask him about it.

"Did you eat all the eggs?"

"Of course not. But I ate the last of the Asiago."

"I don't…even know what that is."

"It's cheese, you nitwit."

"Oh," Harry replied and grinned as something immense seemed to loosen and relax within his diaphragm. Maybe things really had returned to normal.


	21. CHAPTER TWENTY - Puzzle pieces

_**If opportunity doesn’t knock, build a door.** _

_**~Milton Berle** _

_ Thursday, 1st September, 2005 _

The Ministry was in a flurry on the day Hogwarts began a new school year. As a child, Harry had never appreciated the amount of behind-the-scenes activity provided by the adults he had barely noticed at the time. Now he knew that half the Ministry staff was involved. Aurors patrolled King's Cross Station to ensure the safety of the children, Obliviators were on hand to take care of any Muggles who might witness magic or find themselves a bit too curious about the folk disappearing into a column to access Platform 9 & 3/4, and there were even a few representatives from the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures on hand to verify that students were not trying to smuggle illegal or unapproved pets onto the train.

In prior years, Harry had been on duty at the train station, safely anonymous beneath his invisibility cloak, but due to his current baggage, he was forced to survey the scene from afar, keeping tabs on the proceedings via Patronus messages sent by Ron, who seemed to think Harry needed to hear his usual commentary regarding the students, despite the fact that he wasn't present.

"Merlin, if that one doesn't get Sorted into Slytherin, I'll be bloody amazed," the terrier Patronus reported as it scampered around Harry's desk. "I just caught him emptying a jar of slugs into the knapsack of a third-year Ravenclaw girl. What a little monster."

Draco glared. "Not all bullies Sort Slytherin!"

Harry grinned. "You know how Ron is."

"He's an arse, is how he is."

Ron's Patronus disappeared, only to reappear a few minutes later. "Did you know the Patil's had brothers? Also twins! How bizarre is that?"

"Honestly," Draco commented to Harry. "Anil and Aseem. How could Weasley not know that?"

Harry shrugged and did not bother to admit that he hadn't known, either.

"How long is the Weasley Report going to continue?"

"Not long," Harry replied with a chuckle. "He'll be back here once the Hogwarts Express leaves the station."

Draco tipped his wrist to look at the Muggle watch that encircled his arm just below the silver bracelet. Harry felt a fierce stab of satisfaction that not only was Draco wearing the gift, but he was using it. They had gone for a walk on Tuesday night, and Harry had feigned casual surprise upon walking past a jewellery store with men's watches on display. He had suggested purchasing one for Draco, whose eyes had gleamed brighter than the diamonds upon viewing the baubles.  The cost of the watch had nearly caused the air to seize up in Harry's lungs, but he had wanted to apologise in a hopefully-subtle fashion, so he had simply handed over the Muggle credit card Hermione had helped him to acquire and watched as the beaming sales clerk had fastened it around Draco's wrist.

Things had been…interesting between them since Monday evening. Not only had Draco abandoned his earlier cold aloofness, but he seemed to have got a complete personality change. On Tuesday, they had returned to the office to find Harry's desk and both filing cabinets completely restored, but the files were still an unruly mess.

Draco had spent the entire day sorting them with Harry and had suggested several spells that made the task easier and more accurate. When they had returned home, he had made dinner and then concocted tiramisu for afters. When dessert was finished, Draco had flipped through Syed's journal whilst Harry had tried to come up with plausible theories about the killer, and ways to determine the identity of the mysterious "Loser."

On Wednesday, they had discussed returning to High Ashbury and talking to Mrs Sawgrass again to see if she had any ideas, but the trip was waylaid by Healer Hildebrand dropping by. Draco had barely batted an eye at her, which had been surprising in itself. Hildebrand had appeared frazzled and exhausted; she had stayed only long enough to ask how they both were feeling and to set up an appointment to give them each a thorough examination the following week.

"I would accuse you of avoiding me if I wasn't so bloody busy, Harry," she had admonished and pushed a lock of hair back from her face. "This FiendFyre Flu has taken down half the wizarding world, and parents are frantic that their offspring won't be well enough to get to Hogwarts tomorrow."

Harry had been taken aback, but she had assured him it was only called that because of its propensity to spread quickly from person to person, and because of the distinctive sunburn-like rash it left behind.

Harry had assured her they would be on time for the appointment and Draco had shrugged in agreement. Shortly after Hildebrand's departure, Kingsley had popped in and asked for a "status update" that seemed to be mainly a fishing expedition to discover how his "Be Kind to Death-Eaters" campaign was holding up. Harry had let him know that Oliver Wood was keeping attention thoroughly away from his living arrangement with Draco. In fact, the press had been pleasantly quiet.

Ron's Hogwarts updates ended once the Hogwarts Express departed the station and the flurry of activity died down. Harry debated returning to High Ashbury, but Blaise popped into the office with a lunch invite.

"You two have been ignoring Gin-Gin and me and we don't appreciate it. We are starting to think you dislike us."

"That's not true!" Harry protested, although they really hadn't been particularly sociable recently. "And yes, fine, we'll be there. We'll meet you in the Atrium at noon."

"Tell Ron and Herms, won't you?" Blaise added and left, looking smug, and later they all walked to the usual pub for chips and sandwiches. Harry was surprised how quickly they slipped back into their old camaraderie, even though it was a bit odd to be sitting next to Draco and Hermione instead of Ginny. She seemed pleased enough to be sitting with Blaise where she could jab him with an elbow every now and again.

"Did you hear Oliver Wood is the new flying instructor at Hogwarts?" Ginny asked and nicked a chip from Blaise's plate.

"Keep that up and your arse is going to get wider than it already is," Blaise warned.

"Are you calling me fat?" Ginny's outrage made Harry laugh, as did Hermione's huff next to him.

"Everyone has heard. It's all the Prophet can talk about. And good for Oliver. Pity that spinal injury took him out of the running for a Quidditch career, but I'm glad he bounced back." Hermione was not a Quidditch fan, but no one could fault her knowledge of current events.

"If the pants fit," Blaise said and then grinned lazily at Ginny's outrage. "Or do they still?"

"Harry! Am I fat?"

"Oliver was always a great flyer," Harry said loudly. "Don't you agree, Ron?"

"Answer the question, Potter," Ginny said in a steely tone.

Beside him, Draco laughed. "Yes, Potter. Answer the question."

"For Godric's sake, no, Ginny, you are not fat. Blaise is riling you, although why he wants to do that when he shares an office with you is a mystery. Death-wish much, Zabini?"

"Naw, she's just cute when she gets all agitated, don't you think?" Blaise snickered and Harry felt his brows lift in surprise. That had sounded almost…flirtatious. His eyes narrowed and he studied Blaise more closely. If the self-proclaimed playboy had designs on Harry's girlfriend--ex-girlfriend--he'd better have another think. Harry was in no way inclined to trust him after the way he'd behaved with Draco. But perhaps Blaise was merely having her on, as he'd claimed.

He made a note to talk to Draco about it later.

Ginny gave Blaise an eye-roll and a jab with her elbow and the topic turned to other Hogwarts professors. They all derailed a bit into school stories and ended on a slightly maudlin note as they reflected on their Hogwarts days with varying degrees of nostalgia. Harry sometimes missed being at Hogwarts, but he did not miss the never-ending homework (not that case research was terribly different) and living in constant fear of an evil undead wizard and his minions.

oooOOOooo

_ Friday, 2nd September, 2005 _

Draco was surprised at how pleasant it was to slip back into a routine with Potter. He had been so angry he hadn't wanted to admit how much he'd missed simple things, such as pouring a cup of coffee for Potter and handing it to him when he crawled downstairs in the morning, tousle-headed and bleary-eyed. It was rare that Draco rose first, so he particularly enjoyed the sight of Potter clinging to his cup while he begged Draco to tell him it was Saturday and they could return to bed.

"No can do, Potter. Now get your arse upstairs and get dressed whilst I make you some bacon and toast."

Potter's look of shining gratitude was such that Draco's resolve was shaken to the core.  _ Friends _ , he told himself sternly.  _ We are friends and nothing more. _

Of course, it didn't stop him from admiring Potter's arse as he shuffled from the kitchen.

At the Ministry, Draco surveyed what was left of the paper hurricane with distaste. Everything that could be easily sorted had been sorted; what remained were things that had no apparent destination. They would need to be spelled individually to return to the files from whence they came. Draco, of course, would be no help there.

"I suppose I'd best get on with it," Potter said in a tone that spoke of a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

"You made the mess," Draco pointed out.

"I was provoked!"

Draco gave him a condescending smirk. "Of course you were."

Potter opened his mouth to argue and Draco nearly smiled, perfectly aware that the git's outrage was nothing more than a procrastination tactic. Before Potter could begin, an owl swooped through the open door and landed atop his desk with a great flapping of wings that sent a newly-sorted pile of papers to the floor.

Potter's swearing was a sight to behold, so Draco leaned back in his chair and beheld it, chuckling aloud when the irritated owl hopped about so much that Potter had a task to catch it and remove the message.

"Do we not have a sodding mail room here?" he grumbled.

"Do we?"

"Of course we do." Potter held up the envelope. Dark red ink was scrawled across the front in large letters that even Draco could read from his vantage.  **Harry Potter - Personal and confidential** "Sometimes the newer clerks don't know they are allowed to remove the message from the owl first."

"What if it's cursed?"

"I don't think it is," Potter said and broke the seal. "It's from Ned Harper." Potter scanned the message and then carried it over to Draco, who took it.

**I remembered the name of the boy Peyt and Luther used to push round. He called himself Win Brecklemeyer, but Peyt said that wasn't his real name. I recall the "Win" because Peyt always used to grouse that he weren't no winner, but rather a loser and mostly they called him that. "Loser." Dunno if that will help. ~ Ned**

Draco looked at Potter. "What do you think?"

"I think I'll call on the Department of Records and see if they can find any Brecklemeyers."

They spent the rest of the day searching through census records of High Ashbury and the surrounding areas but found no mention of anyone named Brecklemeyer. The Department of Records had turned up no immediate hits on the name, but the clerk promised to hunt and see if she could find any mention of a Brecklemeyer family in all of wizarding Britain.

Similarly, an owl sent to Mrs Sawgrass received a reply that she was visiting friends in Gastonbury for the weekend and would be happy to meet with them on Monday. Giving up on productivity, Potter suggested they return home.

The weather had reverted back to sunny and warm, so Draco changed into his favourite Muggle shorts and a form-fitting black vest. His bracelet clinked against his new watch when he walked, but he wasn't about to take it off. It was flashy and ostentatious, and important Muggles wore them at all times. If Draco one day had to live in the Muggle world, he would need to become more like them. Amazingly, the thought was not as horrifying as it had once been.

Potter seemed nervous and out-of-sorts as if he expected Draco to revert back to his former cold behaviour. Before Potter could do anything particularly foolish, Draco clapped his hands. "Bring on the fanmail, Potter. I haven't sorted it in days. You're probably about to be buried by the avalanche. And then I'll make quesadillas."

"You'll make kaysa-what?"

Draco waved an imperious hand at him. "Never mind. Rest assured, you will be in gastronomical bliss. Now, bring me your letters, cards, and love-potion laced packages."

Potter shook his head, but a smile played about his lips. He pulled out his wand and murmured, " _ Accio _ post."

A large bundle soared over the loft railing to drop onto the table before Harry. "Enjoy. I am going to soak in a scalding hot tub. Do you need help with the kaysa-thingies?"

"No. Enjoy your bath." Draco was already sorting through the letters. There was something voyeuristically satisfying about reading Potter's mail, especially knowing that Potter had no intention of reading any of it unless Draco set it aside for that specific purpose.

While he placed the items in their various piles, Draco thought about Potter. Had he really nearly kissed him? The episode had replayed in Draco's mind until it seemed little more than a dream, but Draco knew he wasn't imagining the blushes that tinted Potter's skin on occasion, nor the glances he sometimes caught when Potter thought he wasn't watching. Draco broke a wax seal with the silver opener and scanned the words. Another invitation that Potter would never accept;  _ could not _ accept now without Draco in attendance, as well.

And that was the rub, wasn't it? Was Potter's attraction legitimate, or had it simply been brought about because of their forced proximity and lack of other options? Surely if Potter had been allowed out he would have found someone else by now. He had been committed to girl-Weasley for years, and the man simply didn't know how bloody attractive he was.

Draco glanced upwards, as though he could see through walls and floor to where Potter stood. The running bath water was a muted sound, but Draco conjured images of Potter shedding his clothing and stepping into the tub. Potter would probably hiss at the heat (if he liked it half as warm as Draco), and he would settle gingerly into the water, sliding down with a grateful sigh once he adjusted. His dark head would settle against the white porcelain and the hair beneath his ears would probably get wet, to curl against his skin as Potter leaned forward to shut off the water. It would be pitch black against his neck, which was still more pale than dark, despite their frequent walks in the afternoon sun.

Potter's glasses would have been placed on the small wooden stand next to the tub, along with his wand, and his long lashes would close over those ridiculously green eyes when he leaned back with a contented sigh.

Would Potter trail a hand down his abdomen? Would he part his legs and tease at his pubic hair? Would he cup his balls and stroke them lightly before dragging his fingers up the length of his cock, teasing it into fullness? Would he think of Draco and…?

Draco's eyes snapped open and he realised he'd been caught up in the fantasy, to the point where he needed to press the heel of his hand against his cock and will it to stand down. The Muggle shorts he wore were tight enough without revealing everything to Potter.

He focussed on the mail and tried to stop thinking of Potter in the hot bath above. That way led to madness. They were better as friends, at least until this nonsense was finished and Draco could return to his place in the world.

_ You hope. But what if this "nonsense" never ends? What if you end up like all of the others? What if you can't be cured and end up like your father; dead before his time? _

Draco tore a letter open with an oath and then winced as an edge of parchment sliced his finger. The tiny line reddened with blood immediately and he resisted the urge to put it into his mouth. Instead, he rose and went to wash it in the sink. Such a silly thing could have been healed with a word if he had his magic. Now he had to wait for Potter to do it, as he'd healed Draco's burn the other night. The memory made him draw a breath as he shut off the tap and patted his hands dry on a towel.

_ Why not pursue it? What harm would it do? _ The words were insidious and had crept into his consciousness more than once over the past week. It wouldn't have to be permanent, just a way to pass the time until the spell could be reversed. It wasn't as if they would ever allow a more permanent entanglement; such a thing would be laughed at by everyone they knew, from both sets of friends to the press and the authors of Potter's fan-mail. It would be nothing more than an amusing fling, a way to pass the time. The idea was tantalising and Draco no longer had the ability to shove it from his mind. It had taken root and now seemed more than happy to send out tendrils of new growth each time he wasn't focussing on a particular task.

And once it was done, they could both move on. Potter could even pursue that wretched Hildebrand, if he so chose. Draco scowled at the notion and began to fetch the ingredients for their dinner. By the time Potter appeared in the doorway, wearing a damp t-shirt, delectable-looking jeans, and little more than wet hair and a smile, Draco had made up his mind.

Operation Seduce Potter was about to commence.

oooOOOooo

Harry spelled the bathroom mirror clear of fog and towelled his hair dry before dragging a comb through it. He needed a trim; his fringe was nearly snagging on his lashes. He wondered if Draco had a particular barber or stylist that he preferred. Perhaps someone capable could turn Harry's mess into something a bit more attractive.  He shook his head and replaced his glasses on his face and then went to find something to wear. Draco had donned his Torture Harry outfit and there was little Harry could do to counter the effect it had on him, other than wear voluminous robes and mentally flick through unattractive images to quell his body's inadvertent response to Draco.

_ Marcus Flint in a thong _ , he thought to himself and added the helpful suggestion that Flint most likely had excessive body hair and a huge pot-belly by now. He nodded and tugged on a pair of loose jeans, and then added a belt when they turned out to be slightly too loose.  He donned a white t-shirt and used his fingers to tug down his damp hair where the shirt had mussed it. They likely would not go out anywhere, so he didn't bother with shoes and socks. From the delicious scent drifting up the stairs, Draco was already cooking.

Harry went to help, which mainly consisted of lurking in the kitchen and watching.

_ Flint in a thong _ , he reminded himself desperately when Draco bent over to remove something from the stove. Fucking Muggle cut-off shorts!

"I'll set the table," Harry squeaked and fled the kitchen.

The meal was delicious, as always, and Harry patted his stomach as he sprawled on the sofa. Draco was already parked in front of his new puzzle and Harry admired the view of Draco's pert arse and long legs for a moment before dragging his eyes away and staring at the ceiling. He debated reading but wasn't in the mood.

"I am missing one bloody edge piece. Where is it?"

Harry grinned and rolled off the couch. He was seldom much assistance, but it was better than falling asleep on the sofa, which would likely happen if he remained prone. He sat cross-legged next to Draco and stared in bewilderment at the collection of pieces on the floor. "They are all blue."

"Yes, but they are different shades of blue and they form a specific pattern when done. I am missing that bit right there." Draco pointed to an empty spot on one mostly-completed edge. "Even you should be able to locate that one. It will have a straight edge on one side."

Harry snorted and scanned the collection of blue pieces. After a few minutes, he frowned and leaned closer. Draco did the same and their hair brushed together as they nearly bumped heads. Harry didn't move away and he tried to concentrate on the puzzle, rather than on Draco's nearness. The image of Flint wasn't working entirely, so Harry added Umbridge. She made a "hem hem" sound as she rubbed Flint's hair-covered belly. Harry shuddered.

"Cold?" Draco murmured.

Harry shook his head and moved a couple of pieces aside with his index finger. Where was the stupid thing?

Draco shifted his position, crossing his legs to match Harry's. Their knees touched and Harry glanced sideways--it was impossible not to at least admire Draco's thighs--and a bit of blue caught his attention, just beneath a jumble of threads from the hem of Draco's shorts.

"I…think I found it." Harry pointed.

Draco huffed a quiet laugh, a puff of air against Harry's face. "Can you pull it free?"

Harry swallowed. The words seemed a challenge and the air was suddenly thick and charged with electricity.  _ I shouldn't _ , he thought even as his hand stretched forth. His fingertips barely skimmed Draco's skin as they closed on the puzzle piece.

Draco was close, so close his warmth was in danger of setting Harry alight. There weren't enough images in the world to crowd out the jumble of random thoughts bouncing through Harry's mind. Draco smelled like herbs, fresh cilantro or mint, or whatever he'd used in the kitchen. And he was so incredibly, perfectly beautiful.

Harry tugged, but the puzzle piece was snagged in the threads and then Harry made the mistake of looking up, into Draco's eyes. They were huge, wide and grey; and his lips were parted as if beckoning Harry to…

His willpower crumbled like ancient parchment and with a helpless exhalation, he touched his lips to Draco's.

_ Finally _ , his blood sang,  _ finally, finally _ .

Draco did not pull away, in fact, he pressed closer with a needy sound that nearly drove Harry into delirium.  _ Easy _ , he thought,  _ don't-- _ He couldn't complete the thought because Draco's hands came up and pushed into his hair. The bare skin of Draco's arm brushed Harry's shoulders and his fingers clenched tightly, almost hurting. They were kissing, no tongues, just lips making greedy push-pull motions that were altogether brilliant. The days, the weeks of longing seemed worth the wait, because kissing Draco was quite possibly the best thing ever.

Draco stopped, moved back ever so slightly, and their eyes met. Both of them were panting and Harry's heart beat staccato as if he'd run a marathon. His hand was splayed upon Draco's thigh--too intimate? The other was braced upon the floor to keep himself from falling. Reality loomed.

"Should--?" Harry began.

"Do shut up," Draco said and leaned back in. Harry acceded, closing his eyes. He let the sensations come and left the analysis for later. The kiss deepened, and the first tentative touch of tongue to tongue was electrifying.  _ Oh god. Oh god, god, god. _

Draco fell back, slowly, bringing Harry with him by an unrelenting grip on his hair. Harry's hand left Draco's thigh and his elbows banged into the hard floor. His fingers found Draco's hair, soft and lovely, and Harry touched without quite being aware of it. His attention was snared almost completely by the fact that Draco's tongue was in his mouth and he was quite skilled at using it.

Harry had always enjoyed kissing, but he'd never thrown his heart and soul into it, as Draco did. His tongue was never still, moving from erogenous zone to erogenous zone, teasing a response before moving on, encouraging Harry to experiment. And then there was the biting. Harry hadn't ever brought teeth into the equation; he wouldn't have dreamed of it, but Draco was perfectly comfortable digging his teeth into Harry's lower lip and then sucking it into his mouth before sliding his tongue in… Merciful Merlin, Harry wondered if he would survive. If kissing alone was this intense, what would…anything else be like?

_ Don't get ahead of yourself, Harry. _

The thought anchored him slightly and he lifted away, wincing at the tight grip in his hair.

"Why--?" He tried, but Draco yanked him back down again and Harry surrendered to more snogging with a chuckle lost in Draco's kiss.

It was fully dark when Draco finally let him go. Harry collapsed on the floor next to him and stared up at the ceiling. His lips felt bruised and swollen and his back ached from the awkward position and the hard floor. They had done nothing but kiss for  _ hours _ , and yet Harry felt immensely satisfied if almost utterly drained.

"I suppose you'll want to talk now."

Harry smiled. "I'm not sure my lips still function after that."

"You're a very good kisser." Draco's compliment seemed grudging and Harry smiled again, even though the movement made his lips ache. If he was good, it was only due to following Draco's lead. Bloody hell, he'd never experienced anything like it. His longest snogging session with Ginny had been mere minutes.

"I admit I've wanted to kiss you for a very long time. I didn't think you wanted me to. Why did you?"

Draco was silent so long that Harry thought he would avoid the question entirely, but then he replied, "You're the only one who sees me."

Harry cringed inwardly. He knew Draco's social life was non-existent. It was likely he missed mingling, going to clubs, picking up strangers… Harry's mind shied away from the thought. He probably missed Blaise and his other friends. Harry had been somewhat self-absorbed when it came to keeping Draco to himself, and he'd rationalised it by telling himself that Draco would be safer with him and that he might be in danger if anyone discovered he had no magic. And maybe it was all true, but it didn't make it right. Draco deserved a real relationship and someone to love, not someone to settle for.

"I'm not sorry." 

Harry rolled onto his side and smiled. "I'm not, either," he said and pressed a soft kiss against Draco's lips. He felt Draco's hand in his hair again, softer this time.

"Goodnight, Potter."

"Goodnight, Draco." Harry pushed himself up and then reached down a hand for Draco. He helped him to his feet, trying to ignore the growing awkwardness, and then squeezed his hand, let go, and headed for the stairs. Part of him screamed that he should stay and ask, but he knew that asking for anything more would be a bad idea, not because Draco might refuse, but because he might accept.

oooOOOooo

Draco watched Potter leave and then set about untangling the puzzle piece from the strings of his shorts. It had taken him some time to affix it properly and his plot had worked even better than expected.

Better…and worse. Potter had been enthusiastic and willing, and the kissing had been brilliant, but there was a reserve there, a wall that Draco hadn't penetrated. Potter still had his nobility pulled tightly around him like his invisibility cloak and Draco wasn't sure what it would take to tug it free.

Draco tossed the puzzle bit onto the floor with the others and went into the kitchen to pour a glass of juice.

_ You're the only one who sees me _ , he had said and he grimaced when he recalled it. Why had he admitted that? It was as close to a Gryffindor truth as he would ever utter. Potter was the only one who still seemed to view Draco as he had always been, as though his loss of magic was no great tragedy, and even if it was lost forever that Draco would still be Draco. Blaise saw him as handicapped now, and Pansy viewed him with pity, as did his mother. They would all accept Draco as he was now, even should it be permanent, but they would all treat him as "poor Draco" and shake their heads sadly when they thought of him. Potter would never pity him. Draco was dead certain of it.

He could hear Potter upstairs; one of the boards near his bed creaked. Draco gulped his juice, fighting the urge to go up and kiss Potter some more, to touch and take and claim, but perhaps Potter was right to be reserved. There was no future in it for either of them and surely Potter knew that as well as Draco.

Even so, it would have been nice to get off with a different hand than his own, for once. He smirked at the thought and went up to bed.


	22. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE - Fighting crime

_**There is a space between man's imagination and man's attainment that may only be traversed by his longing.** _

_**~Kahlil Gibran quotes** _

_ Saturday, 3rd September, 2005 _

Harry rose early the next morning. He felt skittish and out of sorts, even while part of him was almost giddy with happiness. The previous night felt like a dream; he might have believed it a dream if not for the puffy soreness of his lips, a stiffness in his hips from sitting on the hard floor, and the clear memory of kissing Draco that had nothing of a dreamlike quality.

He blinked at the open cupboard door and realised he'd been standing in front of it for long minutes without registering the contents.  _ Tea, Harry _ , he reprimanded himself. He grabbed one of the tins holding Draco's premium loose leaf tea and then pulled out the kettle and filled it with water from his wand. Normally he would just fill a cup and heat it himself, but today he didn't trust himself not to set it to boiling.

He had kissed Draco. And Draco had kissed him back. Repeatedly.

Harry drew a shaky breath and pushed some leaves into the tea strainer. He had no idea what would happen when Draco awoke. Would he pretend it hadn't happened? Would he demand an explanation? Would he--?

Harry's increasingly panicked thoughts scattered when he heard Draco moving around upstairs. Merlin, he was up already. Perhaps he wouldn't come down. Harry opened the fridge and took out a package of bacon, cursing himself when his hands shook as he dropped it on the counter. For fuck's sake, he had walked to his own death with more aplomb.  _ Are you a Gryffindor, or aren't you? _

Feeling steadier, he took out a skillet and placed it on the stove, pleased when it didn't rattle at all. He nearly shouted aloud when arms encircled his waist and warm lips pressed against his neck. He thought his heart might have leaped clean into his skull.

"Morning," Draco said, voice muffled and soft against his skin.

"Morning," Harry replied when he could speak. He relaxed into Draco's embrace, one question having already answered itself. Not pretending it hadn't happened, then. That was…good? Harry turned his head to ask if Draco would like tea and found his lips captured in a kiss. It was an awkward angle, but lovely anyway. "Tea?" he finished when Draco pulled back. "I think we're out of coffee."

"All right."

The kettle whistled then and Draco, thankfully, moved away. Harry turned off the flame on the cooker and then poured hot water into a cup before taking a second one and doing the same. "I thought we might go for a walk this morning and stop into a coffee shop. You haven't tried some of the Muggle coffee concoctions. And they have pastries." 

Harry handed Draco the first cup. Their eyes met for a moment and Harry blushed before he turned to prepare another.

"I'd like that," Draco said. He moved away, into the living room, and Harry heard the sliding glass door open. "Looks like it's going to be a beautiful day. Hello, Muggles!" he called.

Harry threw him an amused look and spilled sugar all over the counter. A wandless spell cleaned it up and he took a sip of his too-hot tea. Draco wore only pyjama bottoms and Harry could only imagine what the Muggles below thought when Draco lifted a hand to wave. At least he was in a good mood.

Harry walked out to join him, admiring Draco's lean form as he went. When Harry stood next to him, a dozen questions wanted to spill out, but he choked them back. Anything he asked might ruin it, whatever tenuous thing _ it _ was.

"What shall we do today? After coffee and pastries?" For the first time in a long time, Draco's grey eyes seemed to burn with a silver fire. He seemed alive again, really alive, like Harry hadn't seen in years. He felt a surge of protective happiness. If all it took to bring that look to Draco's face was a bit of snogging, then Harry was glad to have done it, and would continue to do it as long as necessary. Some of the jumpy, frightened sensation inside of him seemed to settle and he took a calming breath.

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to play Quidditch."

Harry started. "What?"

Draco looked out over the canal and laughed, really laughed. "Oh, Potter. You asked what I wanted to do. You did not ask for a practical suggestion."

Harry smacked his arm with the back of his hand. "Something within reason, then, prat."

Draco's laugh lessened to chuckles. "I don't know. I suppose we should enjoy the last of this warm weather. Soon it will be back to rain and gloom."

Harry nodded. Already the nights were getting longer and colder. "We could have a picnic."

Draco looked at him again and his eyes seemed to dance. "Where?"

"I don't know. A park?"

"That one?" Draco jerked his chin towards the park across the canal. Harry wrinkled his nose. It was a decent park, but small, somewhat overgrown, and not as nicely kept up as some of the others.

"No. Not that one. Somewhere like Kensington Gardens. In fact, let's. We'll pack a lunch and walk under the tall trees and feed the swans. We can pretend to be…" Harry stopped, tongue nearly tripping over the word  _ lovers _ before choking it back.

"What?"

"Muggles," he finished. "We can pretend to be Muggles."

Draco snorted and looked away. "Some of us can pretend that much better than others. I shall go and locate some proper attire, then." He turned and went inside. Harry looked out over the city and sipped his tea, wondering if a picnic were a good idea, or if he'd ever had a good idea in his life.

_ Monday, 5th September, 2005 _

The weekend had been brilliant. The Muggle park had turned out to be a good idea, after all, and Harry and Draco had walked, fed swans and ducks, laid on a blanket on a patch of grass, feasted on a delicious picnic lunch, and snogged. They had found a secluded place and were only disturbed once, by a Muggle girl chasing a runaway red ball. It had bounced past their blanket, and the girl’s running feet had surprised them into breaking their kiss.

The girl had stopped and gaped at them. “Were you snogging?” she’d asked.

Harry had smiled languidly. “Yes, most definitely.”

“I didn’t know boys could snog each other!”

“Of course we can. And why not?” Draco had asked.

She had frowned, staring at them, and then someone out of sight had called to her and she’d jolted back into action, fetching her ball and running out of sight again.

“Are men kissing really so rare in the Muggle world?” Draco had wanted to know. His brow had wrinkled slightly and Harry had definitely not wanted to go down the rabbit hole of explaining rampant Muggle homophobia to him.

“Who cares?” he’d countered instead and had leaned back in for more snogging.

On Sunday, Andromeda had dropped off Teddy and they had embarked on a long expedition to locate an ice cream shoppe. They had found one miles from Harry’s flat and although the hard-won ice cream had been delicious, it had resulted in a worn-out Teddy that had needed to be carried pig-a-back all the way home, leaving Harry exhausted and nursing an aching back, then falling asleep on the sofa with Teddy whilst Draco had prepared dinner.

Harry had eaten and crawled into bed, leaving Draco to deal with a rejuvenated Teddy until Andromeda had returned to fetch him.

Now they were back in Harry’s office, painstakingly combing through the unsorted stack of papers. They’d been at it all morning and had made a good dent in the pile. Draco was perched on the arm of Harry’s chair and leaned against him with one arm draped over Harry’s shoulders. It wasn’t the most comfortable position for either of them, but Draco’s proximity was saving loads of time with the sorting. He read much faster than Harry, for one thing, and could scan a document in seconds.

“There’s a case file number,” Draco said and pointed it out. “What idiot included it in the writeup instead of putting it at the top? Ah, Auror Weasley. That explains it.”

Harry didn’t bother to comment as he sent the page winging to the open cabinet where it tucked itself into the proper file. He picked up the next page. Draco leaned forward and rested his head atop Harry’s. “Coffee break after this one?”

Bertram knocked once and flung open the door, then inhaled a great gasp. Harry glanced over to find him gaping at them like an out-of-water goldfish. Draco's chin left Harry's head as he straightened slowly.

“Can I help you, Bertram?” Harry asked mildly.

Bertram recovered his aplomb. “Auror Potter, there’s an incident in South Grinstead. A robbery! It’s a bloody mad afternoon and everyone else is already in the field. I thought you might be able to…”

“A robbery?”

“Ms Jacobsen managed to send off an owl. Says the perpetrator is still in the house.”

“Oh, let’s do it, Potter.”

“Draco, this isn’t--”

“Stop being so overprotective. How hard can it be for you to take down a simple burglar?”

Harry wavered.

“I’ll stay behind you the whole time,” Draco murmured into his ear. “Nice and safe. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“All right, but at the  _ slightest hint _ of danger, we’re Apparating straight back here.”

“Of course!” Draco hopped to his feet.

“What’s the address, Bertram?”

Bertram hurried forward and handed him a slip of paper. Harry studied it, consulted with his map on the wall and then he and Draco jogged to the Atrium. The moment they reached the gleaming floor of the Atrium, he took Draco’s arm and Disapparated.

South Grinstead was a wizarding village east of the Muggle town of East Grinstead, rather than south, but Harry had long ago stopped questioning the logic of anything wizard-related. The scene of the crime was some distance from the village, surrounded by high hedgerows and tall oak trees. Harry and Draco appeared in the front garden, which was overgrown with weeds and wildflowers, and gazed at the tall, narrow home. Double sets of bay windows adorned the right side of the house while the front door and a tiny balcony sat upon the left. It was quaint, although the chimney and half the wall on the left side of the house had been overtaken by English ivy.

Harry lifted his wand and cast a quick spell. He smiled when Draco lifted a brow. “Anti-Disapparition. Should keep him from disappearing on us.” Harry had barely finished the explanation when the front door opened to disgorge three men, all carting armfuls of goods.

“Halt in the name of the Auror Department!” Harry yelled, raising his wand.

“Bloody hell!” one yelled. The first one dropped the box he held, which likely contained breakable items, judging by the crash and the sound of broken crockery and glass. The man snatched at his jacket, obviously going for his wand, and the other two bolted off the tiny stone stoop and headed round the side of the house past the ivy.

Harry dropped the first man with a Stunner and then took off in pursuit of the others, with Draco directly on his heels.

“Stop where you are!” Harry bellowed. Just past the ivy-bedecked chimney was a small archway, also overgrown with greenery and some dangling purple flowers. Harry cast an  _ Incarcerous  _ but the burglars dove apart and his spell passed harmlessly between them.

Harry raced through the archway into the rear garden. One thief, wearing a dark blue hoodie, had bolted left, past a decorative wheelbarrow filled with flowers. The other had gone right, past the line of shrubs that bordered the back of the house. He seemed intent upon making for the far side of the house. Harry cast a Stunner at that one and heard a cry as he went down. The box he’d held went flying out of his arms.

Blue Hoodie dove behind a raised bed full of pink roses and bright red flowers. Harry glanced over his shoulder to see Draco close behind. The whole garden looked to be less than thirty feet across, so Harry relaxed a bit. “Stay here,” he ordered Draco and then skirted the wheelbarrow, watching the raised bed carefully. He expected the man’s head to pop up but instead heard a tiny creak: beyond the raised bed was a ramshackle garden shed with a door ajar. Had the idiot gone into the shed?

Harry dove, rolled, and bounced to his feet with a Stunner on his lips, but the man was no longer behind the raised bed. He had either crept round the far end or he was inside the shed. Harry glanced back and found Draco crouching next to the wheelbarrow. Good, he’d stayed put, as Harry had ordered.

oooOOOooo

Draco watched as Potter executed a rolling manoeuver and popped to his feet, wand out. He seemed to be having the time of his life, judging by the grin he sent Draco’s way. Draco sighed and looked over at the other thief. To his surprise, the man pushed himself up with both hands. He seemed groggy, but it appeared Potter’s  _ Stupify _ had only glancingly hit the man and had not put him down for good. Draco bounced up and trotted to the large tree that jutted up near an ancient wooden bench. He pressed himself to the trunk, out of sight of the man, and turned his head to see if Potter had noticed, but Potter was creeping up on the garden shed, back against the weathered boards and facing away from Draco.

Draco pursed his lips and wondered how to get Potter’s attention. He didn’t want to distract Potter lest the other thief use it to his advantage. As he watched, Potter leaped into the open doorway of the shed, wand thrust forward. The shed door suddenly slammed into Potter, knocking him into the door jamb--the other thief had been behind the shed, not inside!

Draco heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel and risked a glance behind the tree. The fallen man was no longer fallen but had regained his feet and now trotted towards Potter, wand held at the ready. Draco swore and cursed his own uselessness. What was he supposed to do now? Continue to hide? He had no magic. What would Muggles do? With that thought, Draco cast about for a weapon. The tree trunk he leaned against was surrounded by orange, shin-high flowers. The slightly raised bed was edged in stones of various sizes and shapes. With a smirk, Draco knelt and picked up two fist-sized stones.

Potter seemed to be holding his own, judging by the bang of wood and the shouted cry of someone that wasn’t Potter. Draco’s victim opened his mouth and jabbed his wand forward just as Draco’s first thrown stone cracked into his shoulder. A jet of yellow light shot from the man’s wand and zipped harmlessly through the hedge at the rear of the garden.

Draco threw another stone, narrowly missing the man, who turned his attention to Draco. To Draco’s surprise, it was not a man at all, but a young lass or possibly a sweet-faced lad. The expression on their face, however, was not sweet at all, and a curse was flung at Draco, who ducked behind the tree with an oath. He felt a jolt upon his shoulder and then a burning sensation there. He clapped a hand to it and hoped it wasn’t a spell that would turn him to stone or slowly poison him; he had enough problems.

“ _ Incendio _ !” he heard at the same moment Potter bellowed, “ _ Expelliarmus _ !”

Flames erupted around Draco, who shouted and flung himself away from the tree. His shirt sleeves caught fire and he threw himself on the ground and rolled, wincing at the hardness of the stone and gravel path as he twisted and made it to the thick grass on the other side. He glanced back to make sure the girl/lad wasn’t coming for him and watched as they were flung through the air by a spell. They hit the ground near the corner of the house and this time did not get up.

Draco patted out the last flame and lay still, looking up at the cloudless sky with relief. That could have gone very poorly. Most of the sky was blocked out by Potter, who reached a hand down towards him and had a very worried expression on his face. Draco caught his hand and allowed Potter to pull him to his feet.

“That was fun,” Draco said mildly, but Potter looked anything but amused. He sheathed his wand and spent some time checking Draco for injuries, which were minor: a couple of mild burns on his forearms, and a clean cut on his shoulder that stung and bled mightily but was not life-threatening. Potter’s lips were set in a thin line and the fact that he wasn’t babbling was a red flag to Draco.

Without another word, Potter healed Draco’s burns and wound, Vanished the blood, and took off his own Auror cape to wrap around Draco’s shoulders and hide the ruined shirt.

“Let’s bind these three idiots and then I’ll send for someone.”

oooOOOooo

The next hour was a blur to Harry, who wanted nothing more than to go home and reflect on his own stupidity. Draco could have been killed.  _ He _ could have been killed, thereby also killing Draco. And for what? The chance to rush back into danger and feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins? Would it be worth it if something horrific had happened? What if the thief’s spell had sliced Draco’s jugular instead of his shoulder?

He drew in a steadying breath and glanced at Draco, who waited patiently near the door of the holding area while Harry scrawled his signature on yet another stack of forms. He had never realized with such clarity that his job mostly consisted of writing reports and filling out paperwork.

“That’ll do it, Auror Potter,” said the clerk with a smile. “Also, the Minister left word he wants to see you.”

“Thanks, Billingsley.” Harry forced a smile and then turned and headed out, giving Draco a commiserating look. The Minister could bloody well wait until tomorrow to give Harry a much-deserved reaming. Right now, he and Draco were going home.

  
  


The moment they stepped through the Floo, Harry insisted Draco head upstairs and soak in a hot bath while he prepared them some supper. Draco complied without argument and Harry took it as a sign that he was more shaken than he’d let on. Usually, he argued about everything, if only from force of habit.

Harry quickly poached a fish in milk whilst he sliced potatoes and leeks for a fish pie. Draco should be finished bathing by the time it baked, and meanwhile, Harry would try to figure out how to assure Draco that he would never again try such a stupid, thoughtless manouever. Once the fish pie was in the oven, Harry went upstairs, cleaned himself up with a spell, and changed into a pair of Muggle sweats and a t-shirt that had been worn and washed so many times the DIESEL logo was almost unreadable. Draco would probably have questions about it, but Harry had already explained the Muggle concept of “branding” and Draco was all for it.

When Draco came down, barefoot and dressed in soft emerald trousers and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, Harry felt his heart do a curious stutter. Draco carelessly toweled at his wet hair and grinned at Harry. “Something smells delicious. I admit that dodging spells and batting at flames has given me an appetite.”

Harry cringed with guilt. “Draco, I promise you that will never happen again.”

“What will never happen again? Cooking fish? Surely with your magical prowess, you can freshen the air like that.” Draco snapped his fingers with a chuckle.

“Not the fish,” Harry said, determined not to be distracted. “The Auror thing! Chasing after burglars and nearly getting you killed.” Even so, he cast a wandless spell to dispel the lingering odour of fish, just in case.

Draco sighed and let the towel rest upon his shoulders while he fluffed his hair with his fingers. The wet bits were dark and the parts that were drying had already gone platinum. “Oh that. Come now, Potter, you couldn’t have known there would be three of them. It should have been a simple  _ Expelliarmus _ and away they go.”

“Actually, things often tend to go pear-shaped instead of ‘away they go’, something I should have remembered. Anyway, no more fieldwork. I think the pie is done. Let me grab it.” Harry hurried to the horn and removed the bubbling dish. He Levitated it to the table and dropped it onto a wooden trivet. Bread and butter followed, skirting around Draco as he draped the towel over the back of a chair.

“Sometimes I miss bloody house-elves,” Draco said as he sat down. “I shall have to carry that all the way upstairs to the hamper.”

Harry snorted as he sat across from Draco and stabbed a serving spoon into the fish pie. “Oh no, whatever shall you do?” He snickered.

“It’s a hardship, Potter. You wouldn’t understand.”

Harry felt a stab of guilt at that. Draco’s tone had been light, but he was right. It would be a hardship for someone raised with magic and house-elves. “Sorry. I’ll take it up for you later.”

Draco’s grey eyes twinkled with mirth. “Are you offering to be my house-elf?”

“No. I could see that quickly becoming a full-time job.” Harry grinned and picked up a slice of bread to butter.

“Hardly. You would only need to cook my meals, do my laundry, fetch me whatever I ask for and keep the pantry stocked with coffee.”

“I already do all those things!”

“Well, there you are. House-elf Harry. I like the sound of it.”

“Eat your bloody fish,” Harry growled. He took a bite of bread and chewed while watching Draco thoughtfully. He seemed to be in very good spirits. It was baffling. Draco nibbled at the fish on his fork and then lifted a brow and at the mouthful. No matter how many times Harry had produced palatable food, Draco acted like it was shocking each time. He really was a prat. Harry swallowed the bread. “Honestly, I’m surprised you’re not angry at me.”

Draco dabbed at his mouth with a cloth napkin that bore an elaborately embroidered M, another of Narcissa Malfoy’s “gifts”. “Why?”

Harry’s jaw dropped open and it took him a moment to find words. “Why? Because you were wounded, set afire, and could have been killed! That’s why!”

“It was a small price to pay to see you charging about in full Auror mode.” Draco frowned. “Why do you always forget the wine? Nevermind, I’ll get it.” He pushed his chair back and walked to the kitchen, returning after a moment with two wine glasses and a greenish bottle.

“Full Auror mode?” Harry asked as Draco placed a glass in front of his plate, leaning near enough that Harry could smell the damp just-shampooed scent of his hair. Draco sauntered back around the table and sat down, frowning at the label on the bottle and then peering at his plate.

“Is this cod or mackerel?”

Harry blinked at him. “I don’t know?”

Draco sighed. “Potter, how are we supposed to choose the correct wine? I suppose this Chenin Blanc will do, although the Semillon would be more appropriate for mackerel.”

“What, exactly, is ‘full Auror mode’?”

Draco met his eyes and his lips quirked in a familiar smirk. He held the bottleneck toward Harry. “Fishing for compliments? Spell this cork out for me, will you?”

Harry could have popped the cork out wandlessly, but he made a show of locating his wand and casting an uncorking charm. Draco poured the wine. Harry began to think he would never get an answer, so he took a bite of his fish pie rather than allow it to grow any colder.

“Full Auror mode is when you charge around crackling with power, Potter. It’s quite a sight. You’re practically sex on legs.”

Harry swallowed wrong and coughed for nearly five full minutes until Draco got up and pounded him on the back to dislodge the bit of fish that had caught in his windpipe. Harry Summoned a glass and filled it with water, not bothering to use his wand and also not caring. He gulped the liquid, alternating with weak coughs until he managed to choke out one word. “What?”

Draco had recovered his seat and now he leaned forward to meet Harry’s gaze with an intensity that caused the breath to catch in his throat again. “Sex. On. Legs. Surely you aren’t that oblivious to the effect you have on people, Potter?”

Harry’s cheeks were flaming. He was sure he’d never had any sort of “effect” on people, at least not in that way, except possibly the odd ducks who sent him inappropriate notes on his birthday. And also, apparently, Draco Malfoy, unless…

“You’re having me on, Malfoy.”

“Am I? Do you believe me when I tell you this fish pie is delicious?”

Harry cocked a brow at him. “I...yes?”

“Then why is it impossible to believe I find you attractive, especially when you charge about like the Chosen One you are, glowing with power and smiting bad guys?”

Harry swallowed. “I’m not the Chosen One any longer, thank Merlin.” He held up a hand. “I believe you! I don’t know why you find me attractive, but I believe you. And thank you.” He picked up his glass and took a gulp of wine.

“Good. Because I would like nothing better than to take you upstairs right now, undress you slowly, snog you until you cannot breathe, and touch every inch of your body until you beg me for release.”

Harry was thankful he had swallowed the wine or another coughing fit would surely have been forthcoming. His face felt hotter than the sun from the heat of his flush and Draco’s eyes bored into his with an intensity that told him without words that he was not joking. Harry set the glass down lest he drop it from the sweat making his fingers suddenly slick. He was shocked to hear himself say “Please do” in what sounded like a perfectly rational tone, considering it had been spoken directly by Harry’s libido.

Draco immediately pushed his chair back, rounded the table, and held out a hand. “Shall we?”

Harry gaped up at him. “Now?”

“Potter, I’ve wanted you for days, to the point I would have wanked myself raw if I’d known you wouldn’t overhear me, and since that wasn’t an option I am now fit to burst. So unless you plan to withdraw your request, yes,  _ now _ .”

Harry swallowed and waited for an attack of nerves to reverse this foolish train he’d set in motion, but instead, he put his hand into Draco’s and got to his feet. Silently, he allowed himself to be led upstairs to his bedroom, a place Draco had set foot in only twice in reality, but dozens of times in Harry’s fantasies.

“I’ve never been with a man before,” Harry said, feeling awkward with sudden, crushing nervousness.

“You don’t say, Potter,” Draco said mildly and then leaned in to kiss him. With that single touch, Harry’s insecurity seemed to melt away and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to lace his fingers into the hand Draco still held, pull him closer, and wrap his other hand around Draco’s hipbone. They fit together like Draco’s puzzle pieces and Harry thought he could almost hear a snap as their kiss deepened and Draco’s other hand tucked into his hair.

They kissed for several minutes without moving anything other than their mouths, and then Draco’s hand left his hair and moved to the hem of his shirt. His fingers slipped beneath and then trailed their way up Harry’s back, earning a gasp of pleasure. In response, he let go of Draco’s hip and moved his fingers up to tug at Draco’s shirt, pulling it free of the emerald trousers so he could reciprocate. The skin of Draco’s back was warm and smooth and Harry thought Draco’s breath stuttered against his mouth as he mapped Draco’s vertebrae with his fingertips. Draco released his other hand and Harry felt the t-shirt being tugged over his head.

“I want to see you, Potter.” The shirt dislodged Harry’s glasses on the way up and Harry let them go. Both shirt and glasses hit the floor with a muffled thump. Draco pulled away slightly and cocked his head at Harry. “You look different without your glasses. Can you still see me?”

Harry began to work at the buttons on Draco’s shirt. “I’m not blind, prat, merely short-sighted.” Draco snickered and then the buttons parted to reveal Draco’s creamy white torso, crisscrossed with even whiter scars. Harry forgot to breathe as he trailed over one with a fingertip, feeling a renewed sensation of regret. Draco caught the hand and squeezed.

“That will not be a topic for this moment. We have far more important things to discuss.  _ Wordless _ things,” Draco said and leaned in for another kiss.

Harry allowed himself to be distracted and the kiss deepened as hands swept over bare skin, leaving gooseflesh behind. Touching Draco was something he had fantasized about, but hadn’t expected it to actually happen, not really, so every brush of his fingers felt like a gift, and feeling Draco caressing his skin made it all the more miraculous. It quickly became, however, not enough.

“Trousers off,” Draco ordered.

Harry pretended to misunderstand and tugged at Draco’s waistband instead of his own with a murmured, “All right.” Grey eyes met his and widened, and then softened. A moment later, Harry felt Draco’s fingers pull at the top button holding his Muggle jeans together. The pulling became a frenzy on both their parts and soon both jeans and trousers slid to the floor and were kicked away, leaving them both clad in nothing but their pants, unattractively tented by the hard flesh beneath. Before Harry had even a moment to dredge up embarrassment, Draco snatched him into another kiss, and this time their erections were not confined by heavy fabric. The delicate silk of their pants seemed to enhance sensation as they rubbed together, sliding first one direction and then the other.

It became difficult to kiss through panting breaths and gasps of pleasure and Harry found himself frotting with stronger motions against Draco’s cock, wanting more even while remaining somewhat uncertain of what  _ more _ would entail. And then he felt Draco’s hand slide into his pants and grasp his cock. Harry threw back his head and bucked into Draco’s hand, alarmed that he might come already, at a single touch. “Oh God!”

Draco’s hand squeezed the base of his cock, hard, and Harry thankfully felt the need for release back down a notch, especially when Draco murmured, “Not quite yet, Harry. I have need of this.”

Even through his heightened emotions, Harry felt another thrill at Draco’s use of his first name, and he reached up to touch the back of Draco’s head and pull him into another savage kiss to show his approval. And then he moved his other hand between them to cup Draco’s balls through the silk, earning a shuddered moan against his mouth. He grinned with the satisfaction of being able to give as good as he got, and he tucked his fingers up through the fabric to give them a caress with his bare fingertips.

Draco’s hand left Harry’s cock, but only to shove at Harry’s pants until they slid down his legs to the floor. Harry did the same with Draco’s, albeit tugging more gently. When they both stood nude, they simultaneously took a step back. Harry drank in the sight of Draco, all pale skin and paler hair, with a magnificent cock that stood at attention just for Harry. He might have held his breath as Draco did the same, taking in all of him with a hooded gaze, and every perceived imperfection he bore flitted through his mind in the panicked blink of an eye until a smile curved Draco’s lips and his hand reached out once more to pull Harry closer.

Draco avoided his mouth, and instead, his lips fixed upon Harry’s neck, trailing gentle, sucking kisses from the base of his ear to his collarbone. Harry sighed with pleasure and tucked one hand into Draco’s still-damp hair to encourage him while the other slid down to grasp his arse and pull their hard cocks into closer proximity. The sensation of bare skin touching bare skin was lovely and Draco’s mouth sent warm tingles sparking through Harry’s already electrified nerve endings.

With a swift, pivoting movement, Draco suddenly shoved Harry onto the bed and climbed atop him. Harry’s legs hung awkwardly off the bed, so he concentrated on that rather than the fact they were now prone and pushed himself backwards as Draco lifted off to assist. When they were more comfortably positioned, Draco leaned down to kiss him again, and also gripped Harry’s wrists with both hands as though trapping him on the bed. The heavy weight of his cock was a pleasant pressure against Harry’s abdomen, and as they snogged Draco rocked slowly forward and back, frotting gently until Harry groaned at the frustration of his own cock standing at attention just behind Draco’s rocking motions.

“I’m sorry, are you feeling neglected?” Draco asked and straightened, releasing Harry’s wrists as he leaned back and took Harry’s cock into one hand. Harry could hardly breathe, not only from the renewed sensation of warm fingers wrapped around his length but also due to the sight of Draco, arched over him like a drawn bow, cock ramrod straight and leaking fluid from the tip. Now that his hands were free, Harry put both hands on Draco’s cock and squeezed, enjoying the resultant vibration that seemed to thrum through Draco’s body.

Draco’s voice was ragged when he said, “You’re a quick study, Potter.” He stroked Harry’s cock even though the angle was awkward, bent backwards as he was with his free hand gripping Harry’s knee for balance. Harry also stroked, using his fingers and palms in the same way he liked to fondle his own, although it was difficult to concentrate with Draco doing that…

“Mmmm, let me show you how quick,” Harry said and let go of Draco’s cock to slide both hands around the back of Draco’s arse. With sheer strength, he dragged Draco forward, even though it dislodged Draco’s hand from his own cock. Draco flailed for a moment to catch his balance and fell forward when he ended up perched on Harry’s chest, cock hovering before Harry’s mouth. Before he could talk himself out of the impulse, Harry leaned his head forward and took the tip of Draco’s cock into his mouth. It was smooth and not unpleasant, with just a hint of salty tang. The sound that tore from Draco’s throat made it very, very worth it and he felt a surge of satisfaction that made him press his tongue flat against the underside of Draco’s cock.

He regretted that a moment later when Draco’s answering thrust nearly sent the length of it down Harry’s throat. He choked, fighting his gag reflex.

“Oh shit, Merlin! Sorry, Potter, I lost myself there for a moment, force of habit,” Draco said as he pulled back--not completely free of Harry’s mouth, but back to a bearable position. “Fuck me, I didn’t expect you to do that.” His voice sounded ragged. “But please, do carry on with it.”

In response, Harry squeezed Draco’s arse more tightly and hummed around his cock, then twisted his tongue up to lap at it while urging Draco forward again, but hopefully more slowly this time. Draco complied, sliding his cock in deeper, and then pulling nearly out again, gently enough that Harry could take it, and pushing slightly more inward each time, until Harry was nearly gagging again, but then Draco pulled away completely and slid back, dragging his wet cock over Harry’s chest until his face rested next to Harry’s.

“I’m close already,” Draco said. “I don’t want to come yet.” He lifted himself up until their eyes met; his glinted wickedly. “Besides, it’s your turn.”

Draco disentangled his leg from Harry’s, climbed to the bottom of the bed, and settled himself between Harry’s legs with his face positioned over Harry’s cock and his arms wrapped around Harry’s thighs. He smirked with Harry’s cock twitched with anticipation and Harry threw his head back with a moan as Draco’s mouth closed on the waiting head of his cock. The moan deepened as Draco took the full length. Harry quivered and then raised his head so he wouldn’t miss a moment of the incredible sight of Draco Malfoy sucking his cock. If you’d asked him in sixth-year if such a thing were possible he’d have thought it more likely for Voldemort to dress in drag and sing an aria.

As if sensing the wayward thought and chastising him for not paying attention, Draco’s eyes lifted and locked with his. With a pleased sigh and a heartfelt smile, Harry gave in to sensation and focussed on the building crescendo of pleasure elicited by Draco’s very talented mouth. Harry’s fingers dug into the blankets, balling them in a fist, and his breathing turned into labored gasps that came faster and faster and Draco’s movements increased intensity.

“Draco! I’m--I’m going to--!”

Draco stopped moving just as Harry lost the ability to speak or even think. His hips bucked involuntarily and he came with an explosive rush that left a tsunami of tingling sensation in its wake. His cock spasmed several times and he watched with wide-eyed fascination as Draco took all of it with seeming ease, though his eyes burned silver, locked with Harry’s so intimately that the orgasm seemed second in intensity.

Draco lifted away from Harry’s cock, mouth wet and gleaming, and pushed himself up to plant a semen-flavoured kiss on Harry’s lips. Harry’s nose wrinkled at the salty-bitter taste, but he supposed he could get used to it. In fact…

“Should I reciprocate?” he asked, unsure of Draco’s next intentions. Would he want to…?

“Just use your hands,” Draco said and lifted up to reposition himself on Harry’s abdomen again, legs fitted to Harry’s sides. “I don’t want to put you off on your first time.”

About to protest that he would be just fine, thank you very much, he was distracted by the notion of watching Draco’s face as he pulled him off. He cast a wandless  _ Accio _ and the small bottle of lubricant flung itself from the bedside table drawer and into his hand. Draco did not even lift a brow or roll his eyes at the sight, likely impatient for Harry to get on with it. He did so, popping the cork and shaking a bit into his hands. He had tried several types of Muggle lube, but the wizarding world was far better at such concoctions, and an added sprinkle of magic made it even better. This particular version alternately heated and cooled, granting an added sensation that was quite lovely.

Harry wrapped both hands around Draco’s cock and set to work. The angle was odd, but he worked out what Draco liked by watching his face and enjoyed the mottled pink flush that appeared over Draco’s torso when he lost eye contact with Harry and tipped his head back with increasingly loud gasps. Draco began to rock up and down in time with Harry’s hands, wanking himself into Harry’s fists until Harry felt his own spent erection begin to twitch back into hardness at the mere sight of it. He had thought Draco gorgeous before, but now he looked like a high-class porn star, head thrown back, lips parted, hair mussed, and eyes closed. He was stunning.

“Prepare...yourself...Potter,” Draco said on rapid exhalations. Harry wasn’t sure how to prepare himself, but he did drop his gaze to Draco’s cock just as it throbbed and liquid spurted out to splash in hot bursts onto Harry’s chest. Draco fell forward onto his hands, panting, and his face hovered over Harry’s before Harry leaned up to kiss him. Their lips locked for a long moment and then Draco pushed himself away and plopped next to Harry on the bed. “That was brilliant,” he said. “I will leave the cleanup to you.”

Harry railed a finger through the mess and wiped it on Draco’s abdomen, earning a shouted, “Ew!” and a smack on the wrist.

Harry laughed. “It came from you! How can it be  _ ew _ ?”

“I have expelled it, therefore it is no longer mine. Get it off me.”

Harry snorted but murmured a spell that Vanished the remains from his own torso, but he leaned over and licked the smear from Draco’s before trailing kisses up Draco’s chest to his lips. “Will that do?” he asked and was immediately dragged into a crushing liplock. They snogged for several brilliant minutes and then Draco pushed him away.

“Shall I return to my own room or do you prefer to cuddle now?”

Harry dragged at the covers on the bed to expose the sheets. “Stay, please.”

Draco sighed, but he did not seem displeased as they both tucked their legs and settled beneath the covers. Harry wrapped an arm around Draco and dragged him into a close embrace that would probably become unpleasantly warm in no time, but he planned to enjoy snuggling Draco for as long as possible.

His breathing softened and he felt himself drifting off to sleep when Draco said plaintively, “I’m hungry.”


	23. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter! My poor mum fell and broke her hip and we had no contact for DAYS due to being locked out of the hospital because of Covid-19, so it was a nerve-wracking few days of not knowing what was happening until she became coherent enough to text us. Hopefully, my brain is now back online and I can get this finished soon!

_**Mystery is not always about travelling to new places, it is about looking with new eyes.** _

_**Esther Perel** _

_ Tuesday, 6th September, 2005 _

Draco sighed and stretched and then his eyes snapped open when his skin brushed against someone else’s skin and then memories of the previous day crashed into him. An arm around his waist drew him backward and unintelligible words were murmured into his hair in a breathy sigh. Potter.

The man was definitely a cuddler and a possessive one at that. Draco wasn’t sure he’d be able to disentangle himself without Potter waking up. In that, he was right.

“Whazza--Draco?” Potter asked as Draco pulled away from the clinging arm and pushed back the blankets.

“The loo calls, Potter.”

“Oh. C’m back, though, kay?” Potter’s voice was sleepy and he snuggled more deeply into the pillow.

Draco padded down the hall and used the facilities before walking to his room and snagging his dressing gown from the hook on the back of the door. He put it on after a glance at his watch: nearly 6 a.m. Potter’s alarm would go off in another thirty minutes.

Instead of returning to the bed, Draco went downstairs and started a pot of coffee. He wasn’t sleepy as they had gone to sleep quite early the previous night. His stomach rumbled and he remembered his promise to create them a large breakfast this morning.

Fish pie, it turned out, was delicious straight out of the oven but barely palatable when reheated. After their amorous activity, they had attempted to consume Harry’s fine dinner, but Draco had only managed a few bites and had then settled for sipping wine and nibbling on a slice of buttered bread. Reheating had caused the fish to go tough and the sauce had separated.

Potter had eaten nearly half of what was on his plate and then had pushed it away with a grimace. “Note for future, finish dinner first and  _ then _ go upstairs.”

Draco smiled as he filled the coffeepot chamber with water, Potter’s words warming him as much now as they had the previous night. That “future” coming from Potter had been a lovely mirror of Draco’s thought process. Now that they had crossed the threshold, so to speak, Draco had no intention of going back to a life of celibacy. He pulled bacon and eggs from the cooler, as well as a couple of large, pre-cooked potatoes. Potter liked his potatoes highly seasoned and fried until crispy around the edges and Draco looked forward to nibbling at them as they cooked.

As he worked, he thought back to the previous day. Not the lovely ending, but the part previous to that. Potter really was in his element when shooting spells at baddies and shouting commands. It was a literal crime for him to be locked away in his office, sorting through paperwork and hunting for dusty clues to long-unsolved crimes. He deserved to be in the field, in the thick of things, and not stuck indoors with Draco, who hadn’t missed Potter’s “never again” despite the fact he’d pretended to so as not to discuss it.

The fight had been terrifying, yes, but also exhilarating, in a way, and Draco was rather proud of the way he’d handled himself. He hadn’t been completely helpless, and he was sure he could have done more if he’d had a proper weapon to hand instead of a handful of stones. He might need to look into arming himself with a proper Muggle weapon. What did they use in those books he’d read? Pistols, they were called? Perhaps Potter would buy him one.

In the meantime, of course, they needed to solve this case and find Draco a cure. The sooner Potter got back into the field and did the job he’d been born to do, the better.

Draco had finished cooking and was on his second cup of coffee when Potter’s alarm went off. Momentarily, his footsteps sounded on the stairs and then he blinked blearily at Draco and tugged at his unruly hair.

“You didn’t come back to bed.” He pouted.

“Mmmm. If I had, we would probably not go to work today,” Draco commented.

“That sounds like a brilliant idea.” Potter beamed and strode forward to seat himself across from Draco. He picked up a fork.

“Except that we still need to meet with Mrs. Sawgrass and finish cleaning up the rather large mess in your office.”

“Spoilsport,” Potter said and shoveled a bite of egg into his mouth and followed it with a chunk of potato. “Mis is mi’cious.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Draco took a drink of his coffee.

Despite Potter’s attempts to distract him (including dragging him into a snog whilst standing in front of the fireplace waiting to Floo) they made it to the Ministry without being late. Draco huffed as they walked to the lift and combed at his hair with his fingers. Potter had tangled it with his manhandling.

“Do you want me to fix it?” Potter asked with a laugh and stepped closer. They were the only ones in the lift. Potter raised a hand and pushed it into the hair at Draco’s nape.

“You are the one that mussed it in the first place!”

“We both need haircuts,” Potter admitted and then cocked his head to observe Draco. “Although I do like yours falling over your forehead like that.”

“Well, yours looks like a mop.” The insult did not seem to faze Potter and his crooked grin grew larger as he leaned forward. Draco’s eyes widened in alarm. “Potter, do not--”

The lift door opened and two witches boarded. One stopped short and her mouth pursed into an O as Potter let his hand drop and stepped away from Draco, who groaned inwardly as the woman looked from Draco to Potter and back again with a speculative lift of one brow. The other witch seemed oblivious, looking at a sheaf of papers in her hand.

“Good morning, Auror Potter,” the first witch said. Draco thought her tone was a bit too simpering.

“Good morning, Gladiola. Laura.” Potter’s voice was neutral.

The other witch lifted her gaze from the papers. “Oh, hi, Harry.” She flicked her stare to Draco. “Mr. Malfoy.”

The first witch, Gladiola, inhaled sharply. “ _ Malfoy _ ?” she asked.

Draco rolled his eyes and braced himself for the anti-Death Eater rant, or whatever potentially vicious thing the woman planned to say. Thankfully, the lift doors opened again.

“This is us!” Potter said loudly and pushed Draco in front of him to bustle out of the lift and traverse the hall at a rapid pace. After several brisk steps, Potter groaned. “Ugh, Gladiola is one of the worst gossips in the building.”

Draco’s annoyance flared. “Well, if you don’t wish to be a topic of gossip, perhaps you should not attempt to kiss me in a public lift.”

“I wasn’t!” Potter protested, but the back of his neck was red and Draco did not bother to point out the lie.

Bertram was already lurking by the door to Potter’s office. “Auror Potter! The Minister asked me to send for you right away. ‘The minute you get in,’ he said.”

“Message received, thank you, Bertram,” Potter said and opened the door to his office. Draco pushed past Bertram, who blinked after Potter, probably having expected his idol to rush immediately to Shacklebolt’s office like the obedient little underling that Bertram was. Instead, Potter dropped into his chair and surveyed the mess that still remained in their office. Potter turned his attention back to Bertram and gave him a pointed look. “Is there something else?”

Bertram snapped his jaw shut and shook his head. “No, Auror Potter. I’ll just… Bye.” The door shut and Draco snorted a laugh.

“You are crushing his ability to idolize you properly.”

“Good, because it’s ridiculous.” Potter leaned forward and rested his chin in his hands. He sighed. “I suppose we should go see Kingsley before he storms in here in a rage. I’m sure he wants to scold me for yesterday’s events, and rightly so.”

“Let’s get it over with, then, Potter. I have things to do.”

Potter stuck his tongue out at Draco but then pushed to his feet. “Fine,” he grumbled.

They made their way to the Minister’s office and were admitted by Shacklebolt’s secretary. Shacklebolt gave Potter a thin smile. “Nice to see you, Harry. I was afraid you would ignore my orders again.”

“I never ignored an order!” Potter protested. “Yesterday you  _ requested _ a meeting and even this morning it wasn’t delivered as an order. Should it have been?”

Shacklebolt waved away Potter’s protests. “Next time I’ll be clearer. I would, however, like to know why you and Draco Malfoy were on scene yesterday to take on three robbery suspects.”

“No one else was available and it was called in as a single burglar. I admit I didn’t think the situation through clearly and I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

Shacklebolt had opened his mouth, likely to chastise Potter, but paused at the apology. “Good to know. I should not need to remind you that you are responsible for Mr Malfoy’s wellbeing. If anything should happen to him--”

“It would disrupt your current campaign,” Draco finished. “Yes, yes, we are aware and Potter has apologized.”

Potter shot him a quelling look as Shacklebolt switched his attention to Draco. “And you, Mr Malfoy, should not have gone along with such nonsense. You could have been injured. Or killed.”

“The Chosen One, here, is more than up to the challenge of keeping me safe. I did not feel in danger at any time.” That was a complete lie and Draco could not look at Potter whilst he uttered it, but he also did not feel that Potter had earned a reaming for simply trying to do his job. “As you will note, we did manage to detain three criminals.” Draco crossed his arms and lifted his chin, daring Shacklebolt to refute it. That, at least, was the truth.

The minister scowled and then sighed heavily as he turned away. “Very well. As long as I have your word,  _ Harry _ , that you will not take on a current criminal case without my permission--”

“Wait,” Potter said. “Current? Then you don’t mind if we…?”

“Continue to jaunt about inquiring about things that happened decades ago? I suppose not, as long as your questioning does not stir up any current hornet’s nests.”

Potter met Draco’s gaze and his expression looked like a warning. Draco understood. Wasn’t the whole point to stir up a hornet’s nest and find the culprit? Especially when the case in question could very well point to the murderer of Draco’s father?

“Of course not,” Potter said quickly. “The whole point is to bring closure to the victims’ families. Those that remain, that is.”

“Then I see no harm in it. Now, as to Mr. Malfoy, I have been patient for [nearly] two months. Will you please allow me to offer you an official position here?”

Draco shook his head. “I am very sorry, Minister Shacklebolt, but I simply do not have time to take on employment with the Ministry. I am writing a book.”

Shacklebolt’s eyes narrowed and a muscle in his cheek began to twitch. It took all of Draco’s willpower not to smirk, but he feared any hint of satisfaction might have repercussions upon Potter.

“He is, Minister,” Potter put forth with an enthusiastic nod.

Shacklebolt lifted a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger as if fighting a sinus headache. Perhaps he was coming down with something. “Very well, you may go, Auror Potter. If you should change your mind, Mr Malfoy, you know where to find me.”

Draco managed a courtly bow because he knew how to be gracious in victory. “Of course, Minister,” he said magnanimously.

Potter walked briskly as soon as they left the Minister’s office, so much so that Draco nearly had to jog to keep up with him. The moment they were around the corner and out of sight, however, Potter halted and bent to put both hands on his knees. Draco stopped, alarmed, and wondered if Potter was having a dizzy spell. Was he all right?

He touched Potter’s shoulder and found it shaking. “Potter!” he exclaimed.

Potter turned his head and Draco found that the prat was  _ laughing _ . Potter’s eyes glinted at Draco as he shook his head and inhaled a gasp of air before belting out a more audible bark of laughter. And then he took off down the hallway at a jog.

Draco paused for only a moment and then he raced to catch up with him. “Are you--? Have you lost your mind?”

“Shhhh!” Potter said and lifted a finger to his lips before cracking up again and running faster. He pushed into their shared office and leaned on the edge of his desk before bursting out in full, loud laughter.

Draco hurried inside and shut the door before leaning against it and watching him in complete bafflement. “Potter, what has gotten into you? Did Shacklebolt hit you with a Confundus?”

Potter turned around and walked to Draco and then cupped Draco’s face in both of his hands, cementing Draco’s certainty that he’d been hexed. “No, it’s you, you amazing, unbelievable man.” Potter straightened and schooled his features into a semblance of gravity. “‘You will note, we did manage to detain  _ three _ criminals,’” he intoned in a terrible imitation of a posh accent. “That was brilliant!”

Draco crossed his arms. “I sound nothing like that.”

“Normally I would walk out of there feeling like a kicked crup! This is amazing! Not only did I not get suspended--or even chastised, really--but I’ve been given blanket permission to continue to look into this bloody tattoo case. You are a genius, Draco!”

Potter seemed genuinely over the moon and Draco could only frown at him in confusion. “Potter, I do not understand you on the best of days. I believe I will be over there,” he gestured at his desk, “sorting through the data we have thus far accumulated on this case. How does that sound?”

Potter chuckled as he backed away and sprawled into his chair. It wheeled across the floor a few inches and slowly stopped. “That sounds brilliant, Draco. In fact, you can spend the entire day working on your  _ Quidditch book _ if you like and I will finish sorting these damned papers. You have earned a respite.”

Draco nodded, confused, but also feeling somewhat infected by Potter’s ridiculous good mood. “Quite right,” he said and lifted his arms before wiggling his fingers in Potter’s direction. “Files, please.”

Potter sent a veritable shower of files Draco’s way, arcing in a boringly coloured bridge from Potter’s desk to Draco’s. “As you wish. I will compose a memo to Mrs Sawgrass requesting a meeting since we were detained yesterday.”

Draco nodded. “Detained,” he echoed. He opened the first file and chastised himself for not recalling what they had learned and what they hadn’t about this case. How dared he allow himself to be distracted by Potter and his…his… Draco looked over and found Potter fixated on his ink bottle, prising at the cap as though it held the secrets of the universe. Draco’s breath caught and he shook his head with a fond smile. It was rather easy to become distracted by Potter’s bloody intensity. Draco’s mind flashed back to the previous night and his breath caught as he thought about Potter taking in Draco’s entire cock without complaint… Draco swallowed and looked away, trying to focus on the page he had opened to. Bloody hell.

Potter scribbled a note, having deciphered the mystery of the ink bottle, and then sent it winging over to Draco with a request. “Will you fold this for me? You are far better at origami than I am. Mine always tend to look like lopsided paper aeroplanes.”

Draco nodded and felt a bit smug at knowing what aeroplanes were, and not just the birdlike images in the sky, but he knew something of the mechanics of them, thanks to the Muggle books he’d been reading. Imagine building something to take you to the sky  _ without magic _ . Muggles were far more ingenious than the wizarding world gave them credit for. Draco would never voice such sentiments, of course, but he could think them with impunity. He folded the note into a quick frog and gave it a downward press with his index finger. It hopped forward and then sailed from the desk into Potter’s waiting hand.

“Thanks,” Potter said and then affixed a smaller note to the frog’s head and sent it winging through the door, which opened a crack in the nick of time, headed, no doubt, for the mail room where it would be sent via owl to Mrs Sawgrass.

“You don’t even need your wand anymore, do you?” Draco asked, curious.

Potter flushed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Too obvious?”

“Has magic become easier or are you simply more powerful?”

Potter shuffled the papers on his desk, seeming unwilling to meet Draco’s eye. “Both, I guess. I just have to think the spell and, I dunno,  _ imagine _ the motions of my wand instead of using it.” Potter looked at Draco then. “Do you remember the first time you used a wand? That rush of magic you felt tingling through your arm? The sort of warmth suffusing your whole being?”

Draco nodded and for the first time in a long time missed magic so severely that he ached with it. He hadn’t let himself think about it, beyond an occasional twinge of regret, packing up his memories and sorrow into a seamless box and shoving it into a far corner of his mind. Now that box had cracked open and the force of his regret threatened to swallow him. He swallowed and tried to focus on Potter’s words.

“Well, I feel that way all the time now.” Potter got to his feet and crossed the room to Draco’s side. Draco looked up at him and Potter crouched as he took Draco’s hand. Draco would have made a joke about proposing if Potter hadn’t looked so serious. “I feel it all the time, Draco, sometimes so much so that I need to cast a spell or I’ll burst with it. And wandless is harder so it seems to drain that feeling off quicker. It feels great, but also a little scary, and I know it’s because I have my magic and yours, and it’s almost as if yours is struggling to get out, to escape back where it belongs.” He squeezed Draco’s hand. “We  _ will _ find a way to make that happen, and soon. I promise.”

Draco cleared his throat. “You know, a lesser man would find a way to murder me and keep all that power to himself.”

Potter looked taken aback. “Then all the more reason to keep this spell an absolute secret and reverse it as soon as possible.”

Draco smiled fondly. Idiot Potter. All he had to do was Disapparate and he could keep all of that lovely power to himself, but of course he would not even consider the idea. Potter smiled back, endearingly, and Draco could not help but lean forward to kiss him. Of course, that would be the moment for the office door to bang open.

Hermione Granger cleared her throat. “Sorry, the door was cracked.” She shut it firmly. “I see the rumours are true, then.”

Potter got to his feet but squeezed Draco’s hand before wandering back to his desk. “Rumours?” Potter asked blandly.

“Apparently you two were snogging in the lift this morning.” Granger crossed her arms and frowned at the large pile of papers still choking Potter’s desk. “What’s all that?”

“We were not snogging!”

Granger lifted a brow and looked at Harry, then Draco. “And I suppose you weren’t about to kiss when I walked in? What were you doing then, looking for a lost eyelash, peering into one another’s eyes and holding hands?”

“Oh, we were,” Draco said before Potter could cough out something lame. “But we haven’t  _ actually _ snogged at the Ministry. Yet. So that rumour is completely unfounded.”

“So you were only  _ about _ to snog?”

“Yes.”

Granger nodded. “Huge difference. I will attempt to rectify the gossip at once.” She snickered. “Anyway, rumours about your relationship, whatever that might be at this point, is not why I’m here.”

Potter couldn’t seem to stop gaping at her and Draco was also perplexed at how easily she accepted the fact of them being together in a more intimate way. “You’re okay with this?” Potter asked and gestured between himself and Draco.

“Please, Harry, it was only a matter of time. You two have been obsessed with one another since Hogwarts and, frankly, it’s nice to see that excess of emotion poured into something other than animosity. I wasn’t in the least surprised when Harry leapt at the chance to bond himself to you, Draco.”

Draco gaped at her, but she busied herself Transfiguring a box of files into a sturdy wooden chair with a flick of her wand that left him slightly envious. She’d always been bloody good with spells. It seemed a waste she was now working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement shuffling papers all day long.

“I’ve wrapped up my urgent business and I set aside some time to work on your problem. Tell me everything. Not only about this case you’re working on, but also, Draco, everything you know about the original illness. I have the reports from St Mungo’s and also from Azkaban regarding the former Death Eaters who perished from this curse, disease, or whatever it is. But you might be able to offer more insight than the cursory written reports. I’ve brought copies if you want to go through them” She pulled a tiny box from a pocket of her robes and enlarged it into a sturdy file box that she sent to Draco with a murmured Wingardium Leviosa.

They spent the next hour going over paperwork and discussing theories, none of which pulled forth new information or ideas. Bertram brought a note from Mrs Sawgrass that said she expected them for tea at 3 p.m. “Will you join us?” Harry asked her, but Granger shook her head.

“I’ve been here long enough. See if Mrs Sawgrass has any insight into who this ‘Loser’ might be and I’ll try and think of another way to find any wizarding Brecklemeyers. He might have been the offspring of Muggles, which could also explain the excessive bullying.” She sent a pointed look at Draco that he refused to acknowledge. Bygones and all that. Besides, she had physically attacked him once to retaliate, which was more than poor Win Brecklemeyer had ever done to his gang of bullies, according to Syed’s journal.

Potter got up to give her a hug and show her out and they nearly ran into Blaise on his way in. Blaise apologized, greeted Granger, and hurried past them to reach Draco. Potter shut the door behind Granger and returned to his desk after giving Blaise a curious look.

“Draco, I need to talk to you. Privately. Sorry, Harry.” Blaise took out his wand and cast a Muffliato, then knelt at Draco’s feet and took his hand. Draco watched him with alarm. “You have to help me. I’m going out of my mind.”

Draco tugged at his hand without success. Blaise had really latched on. “Circe, Blaise, what is it this time? Did you shag Zach Smith after all and now he’s stalking you?”

Blaise blinked at him and laughed. “No! I stopped going to clubs when you...well, the day you and Potter got your bracelets. I realized how selfish and self-destructive I’d become and I decided right then to make a change. I haven’t had a drink in a month or more and I’ve taken up a couple of new hobbies.” He shook his head. “But that’s not the problem!”

“ _ You _ stopped drinking and going clubbing?” Draco repeated. “What about shagging every random stranger you meet?”

“I stopped doing that, too.” Blaise scowled and tugged at Draco’s hand. The squeezing was beginning to become painful. “Also, I’ve asked Ginny Weasley out on a date. A real date. Tonight.”

“What?”

Blaise shot an almost-desperate look at Potter, who was watching them intently from across the room. “I know! I’m not sure how it happened or if it’s just a natural consequence of not having sex in two bloody months, but I just found myself gravitating more towards her, and now…” Blaise swallowed and returned his attention to Draco. “I really like her, Draco, and I’ve been thinking lately about settling down and starting a family--”

Draco laughed out loud, unable to help himself. He lifted his untrapped hand and pressed the back of it to Blaise’s forehead. “Are you ill or just having me on?”

Blaise released Draco and got to his feet. “I’m serious! I’ve changed! And Gin-Gin is funny, and smart, and cute as a button when she’s not being super vicious, which I admit I deserve on occasion.” His eyes went unfocussed for a moment and Draco drew in a breath. He’d never seen Blaise in such a state, honestly. Normally when he waxed poetic about a potential conquest it was with a lazy smirk and the glitter of excitement in his eyes. Now he wore a soft smile and a glassy, faraway look, as though he’d been drugged.

Draco coughed. “Very well. Assuming you haven’t been hexed or taken a solid blow to the head-- _ what do you want _ ?”

Blaise took a deep breath. “I don’t want to fuck this up, Draco! What do I do? I know how to entice people into my bed, but I have no idea how to keep them there. I want a bloody  _ relationship _ , but I don’t know how to go about it.”

Draco snorted. “You are asking the wrong person for relationship advice, Zabini, as you well know. Why not catch up to Granger? She’s been with Weasley since practically first-year and they’ll most likely start popping out more gingers soon, perish the thought. Plus she lives and breathes for telling people what to do and how best to do it. And she’s friends with your girl-Weasel.”

Blaise grinned at him. “That’s actually a brilliant idea, Draco!” Blaise snatched up his hand again and placed a kiss on each knuckle, despite Draco’s attempt to tear his hand back. The bastard was stronger than he looked, and quite fit, despite his tendency to appear waifish. “There is, however, one other thing.”

Draco sighed. “What is it?”

“How do I keep Harry from murdering me?”

oooOOOooo

Harry drew in a breath as Blaise dropped to his knees beside Draco’s chair and snatched up one hand. Blaise began to speak, but Harry could not make out any words, it was all an annoying buzzing sound. From the alarmed look on Draco’s face, Blaise was saying something completely unexpected. Was he _proposing_?

Harry dropped into his chair and tried not to watch them. He should focus on his papers and give them some privacy. In fact, he should probably step outside the door rather than covertly watch them in the hope of reading Draco’s lips. He picked up a sheaf of papers and made a show of straightening them.

Blaise laughed and shook his head; whatever he’d said caused Draco to gape at him. His response caused Blaise to scowl. Draco seemed to be trying to retrieve his hand, which gave Harry a moment of relief. Perhaps Blaise wasn’t proposing, or if he was, hopefully, Draco would deliver a firm “no” and that would be the end of it. Harry took a deep, steadying breath.

Blaise shot Harry an odd look and then said something that seemed earnest to Draco, who laughed and pressed his other hand to Blaise’s forehead. It was a casual gesture, but Harry could suddenly feel the intimacy between them, the years of history that gave them the familiarity to hold hands and touch. Even after yesterday, Harry wasn’t sure he would have the confidence--or the leave--to take Draco’s hand or brush the hair from his forehead with anyone as a witness.

Blaise finally let go of Draco’s hand and stood. He seemed agitated. Harry tried not to think about their conversation. Was Blaise begging Draco to come back? Was there more between them than Harry suspected? Harry’s desk began to tremble and the papers lifted from the desk and shifted sideways. He clamped down on his magic and the desk settled.

_ Get hold of yourself, Harry _ , he admonished himself.

And then Blaise grabbed up Draco’s hand again and began to place kisses upon it. Harry’s desk and chair lifted completely off the floor. Thankfully, it was only an inch or two and the others didn’t seem to have noticed. Harry held the furniture in place with a murmured spell and then eased them back to the floor, settling them there just as Draco and Zabini both turned to stare at him.

“What?” he asked, hoping they hadn’t noticed his minuscule loss of control. Blaise waved his hand and then Harry could hear the tiny squeak of Draco’s chair again.

“Blaise has a date with your ex-girlfriend,” Draco said.

“Draco! You needn’t blurt it out like that! Are you trying to get me murdered?”

It took Harry a moment to process the words, having expected something far different. “Ex-girlfriend?” he asked dumbly, bizarrely thinking of Cho Chang, although she’d never been his official girlfriend.

“Ginevra Weasley?” Draco asked. “Redhead? Likes to cast hexes at peoples’ noses? That ex-girlfriend? Ringing a bell yet?”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Oh! Wait, you have a date with  _ Ginny _ ?”

“And the Quaffle finds the ring,” Draco said with a snort. “Is this too much for you, Potter?” Draco’s snarky amusement drew Harry fully back from his previous pondering. That’s what they had been discussing? Blaise and Ginny?

“That’s...great! Good luck!” Harry grinned at Blaise, who visibly relaxed.

“Then you’re okay with it?” Blaise asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Did she agree to go out with you? You’re not kidnapping her?”

“Of course not! I mean, of course I’m not kidnapping her, not of course she didn’t agree. Of course, she agreed-- Yes, she agreed.”

Harry couldn’t recall ever seeing Blaise flustered, except possibly he’d been apologizing to Draco for screwing up their two week “trial period” for which Harry was now rather grateful. “That’s fine, then.”

Blaise let out a breath and nodded before smiling at Harry.

“However, if you’re not serious about her and are only trying to lure her into your bed before getting her hopes up and breaking her heart, I will hunt you down, Zabini, and they’ll never find your body.” Harry picked up the papers and banged them sharply on the desk to straighten the edges, staring hard at Blaise the while.

Blaise visibly swallowed, then nodded. “Right. Got it.” He coughed and glanced at Draco. “I’ll just be going, then. Thanks for the advice, Draco.” He hurried to the door, opened it, and paused. “By the way, congratulations, you two, on finally shagging. It took you long enough.” The closing door cut off his laughter as he left.

Harry looked at Draco. “Is it just me or was that weird?”

“Everything involving Blaise tends to be weird.”

Harry nodded. “Right. So, Blaise and Ginny. That is weird. I thought he preferred blokes.”

“Blaise will shag anything without fur or excessive body hair, although he was waffling on those standards during fifth-year when that centaur was teaching Divination.” Draco shuddered. “As for his claim that he’s stopped going to clubs and turned over a shiny new leaf, I will need to verify that with Pansy.”

“And I might have a talk with Ginny.” They were both lost in thought for a time and then Harry sighed. “Back to it, then. I’ll jot a list of questions to ask Mrs Sawgrass, but let’s go have lunch in the city before our meeting with her. She invited us to tea, which will probably involve tiny sandwiches and fairy cakes, so I’d like something more substantial in my stomach before then. Like a nice curry.”

Draco nodded, already seated and flipping through files. Harry picked up his quill and tapped the end thoughtfully against his lips. There had to be something they had missed.

  
  


Tracy Sawgrass greeted them warmly at the door. She looked quite put-together, as Aunt Petunia used to say. Her robes were a dusky blue trimmed in peach-coloured lace and she wore a tiny pointed witch’s hat that matched. Only one cat was in evidence, the tabby that appeared to recognize Draco, judging by the soft miaow sent his way the moment they stepped inside. The sofa had been cleaned of cat hair and the low table was filled with, as Harry had predicted, tiny sandwiches and finger foods. Despite having eaten heartily, Harry took up a tiny plate and filled it with delectables. Draco took a much smaller sampling.

“Are you here to discuss your old case or did you just drop in to keep an old woman company?” Tracy asked as she poured three cups of tea. The tabby miaowed again and touched Draco’s leg with two paws. “Flouncy! Take Moppet out of here! This shall be a cat-free tea, for once.”

The aged house-elf popped in, snatched up the cat in midair as it was leaping for Draco’s lap, and popped out again. Draco’s sigh of relief was nearly undetectable. He said, “Although your company is delightful, I’m afraid we are still here on business.”

Harry nodded and accepted a cup, which he sipped to wash down the flavor of the sandwich, which had been some sort of cheesy spread with capsicum peppers. Delicious. “We are looking for someone, he would have been near the same age as Luther Frizzo and his gang. His name was Win Brecklemeyer.”

“A child, you say? Brecklemeyer, Brecklemeyer. An odd name, and definitely not any of the residents of High Ashbury. Still, it has a ring to it that is familiar.” Tracy stared into the depths of the room as if trying to peer into the past. She shook her head and set down her cup. “A child named Win. Could it have been short for Winston?”

“Absolutely.” They had no idea, so it might have been short for Winston, Winter, or Winslow, for all they knew.

“If I recall correctly, I think Winston is the name of Lydia Wheelwright’s nephew. What was her sister’s name? It started with an R but they called her something else. Becky! That’s right. Rebecca Wheelwright. She went off to America the moment she left Hogwarts. She was a wild thing, that girl! Came back with that boy in tow, that Winston. I think he would have been the right age and his father could very well have been named Brecklemeyer. She left him in America when she came back. Pregnant with twins, no less! Rumour has it the man was abusive.” Tracy leaned forward and lowered her voice, despite the fact that no one was around to overhear. “Rumour also has it that she never married the man, but that’s just gossip, mind you.”

“So Winston Brecklemeyer would have been the right age, and also  _ American _ ?” Draco asked and shot a look at Harry.

“Indeed. I remember the boy, vaguely, now that my memory has been tickled. A sullen, angry-looking boy who seldom spoke, probably to hide that dreadful accent. He must have taken after his father because Becky was a delightful, outgoing lass.”

“Is there any chance that the Wheelwrights still live here?”

“Oh, no, dear. Lydia died a few years back from natural causes, they say. She was always a bit frail, was Lydia. Rebecca moved to London nearly the moment her twins were born, and she took that boy with her. They lived here for less than a year, I believe. Terrible what happened to those girls.” Tracy clucked her tongue and sighed.

“Girls?”

“The twins. Charity and Chastity, she named them. Rebecca married a Muggle, of all things, and lived in some suburb of London. Chastity died young, in her early twenties, I believe, of a random spell accident, and Charity…” Tracy took a drink of tea.

“What was the Muggle’s name?” Harry asked with sudden, horrifying suspicion.

“Burbage.”

“Charity Burbage,” Harry whispered and shot a look at Draco, who had gone pale as death. His teacup trembled against the saucer and he quickly set both on the table. “The Muggle Studies teacher at Hogwarts.”

“Indeed,” Tracy said. “She disappeared and was never seen again. It was during that dark time of You-Know-Who, and given her Muggle leanings--despite the fact that she was a full witch, mind you, both she and her sister had taken their Muggle father’s name when he adopted them. Well, there is little doubt she was likely killed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.” She shuddered.

Charity Burbage had, indeed, been killed by Voldemort, hanging upside down over the Malfoy’s table until murdered by the Killing Curse. Harry tried not to dwell on the memory and pushed on with another question. “And the boy? Winston--could he have also taken Mr Burbage’s name? We’ve searched everywhere for Win Brecklemeyer, but not Winston Burbage.”

“I suppose it’s possible, Auror Potter.”

Harry glanced at Draco and then popped an iced cake into his mouth. He chewed slowly, thinking. Draco said, “So Lydia Wheelwright is dead, as are both the twins, Charity and Chastity. Do you know if their mother, Winston’s mother, Rebecca, is alive? Rebecca Burbage, now?”

“I don’t know, Mr Malfoy. Since Lydia died there has been no word of that family. I suppose it’s possible that Rebecca, her husband, and Winston are all alive.”

A sharp rap on the window startled them all and Harry was surprised to see a large owl perched on the sill. It banged again on the glass with its beak.

“That’s my mother’s owl!” Draco said.

Harry hurried to the door and the owl swooped inside. It circled the room once and then landed on the back of the sofa near Draco, who immediately reached over and removed the message tied to its leg. He picked up a salmon-covered cracker and glanced at Tracy Sawgrass. “May I?” he asked.

“Of course.”

Draco fed the cracker to the owl, who snapped it in half and then hopped down to the sofa seat to gobble up the pieces. Harry spelled away the crumbs absently as Draco read the message.

“Teddy is in St Mungo’s,” he said in a hushed voice. He looked at Harry with a stricken expression and Harry reached out to take his hand. “It doesn’t say why.”

“Sorry to leave so suddenly, Mrs Sawgrass. Tracy. But we have to go.”

“I understand, Auror Potter. Please come back anytime.”

Squeezing Draco’s hand tightly, Harry Disapparated them away.


End file.
